Things Are Seldom What They Seem
by usa123
Summary: Palmer needs Tony's help with a problem involving his girlfriend, a kidnapping and a classified dossier. Yeah, you really think it's that simple? Entire team involved. Case fic. No slash, no ships.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. Wish I did. Though writers of NCIS, if you are reading this, I would like to see the return of Strong/Competent!Tony in Season 8. Thanks!

* * *

It was late at night as Jimmy Palmer entered the NCIS bullpen. It was almost empty, except for a man hunched over at his desk. The small lamp illuminated his crinkled forehead as he pondered the paperwork in front of him.

Jimmy had hoped Tony was there, but he would have accepted anyone on the team. Gibbs scared him, Ziva looked as if she'd be more comfortable shooting him than helping him out, and although he liked McGee, he was unsure McGee could confidently help him. Abby was out of the question due to the imminent danger, and besides, she had no idea about real field work; she could also kill him fourteen different ways without leaving a shred of forensic evidence. Ducky would immediately run to Gibbs after offering his long-winded advice and Jimmy would rather not look incompetent to either of his bosses. But Tony, even though he teased Jimmy mercilessly, was the right mix of street smart and physical strength to help him with his problem. Plus, Tony owed Palmer for all those times he used Jimmy as a sounding board for all his theories while Gibbs was away…and all those Jamacian Mochas…

"Hey Tony!" Jimmy called.

Tony jumped in his seat.

"Palmer! What are you doing here? It's-" he paused to look at his watch, "after nine o'clock. I thought you and Ducky finished that last autopsy hours ago." He said, getting up to stretch his stiff muscles.

"Yes, yes, we did. It's actually quite interesting…Our sailor died choking on a potato chip. What the wife didn't know was-"

"Palmer! I'd love to hear about it but I've got somewhere to be." Tony began putting his paperwork into his file folders, then into his desk drawer. Locking it, he looked up to see Jimmy still standing there, holding a thin file. "You need something?"

"Yes, Tony, I need your help."

"I figured as much, Palmer. Have you talked to Ducky?" Tony grabbed his gun from the other desk drawer and picked up his backpack, ready to leave.

"I can't. It's nothing he can help me with."

"Gibbs?"

"Well…uh…"

Tony turned around smiling evilly. "He still scares you? Come on Palmer! It's been six years! He _can't_ still intimidate you!" The look on Palmer's face gave him the answer.

"Okay. How 'bout McGee?"

"I don't think he's suited for this."

"Ziva?"

"She doesn't seem like the helping type."

"Well, you got that right. Abby?"

"Don't want her involved."

"Ummm…Well…" Tony paused, trying to think of someone else to pass off Palmer's problem to and came up empty. He sighed wearily, looked at his watch again, and sat back at his desk.

"Okay Palmer. You have exactly one minute. What's the problem?"

"Um…well…Where to begin?"

"45 seconds…" Tony said impatiently.

The words rushed out in a torrent. "My girlfriend's been kidnapped and I'm supposed to steal a file from Records to ensure her safe return."

Tony snickered. "Did Ziva put you up to this?" He looked around the bullpen. "You can come out now Ziva! Joke's over!" He paused, seeing Palmer's grim expression.

"You're serious?" he asked incredulously, "You're just the autopsy gremlin! You don't have that kind of clearance!"

"I don't think they know that, Tony. I really need your help. I have the file. I'm supposed to make the drop in an hour. I don't know what to do. I don't have experience with this sort of thing-now if it were dead bodies, that'd be a different matter all together-" he returned to the matter at hand, as Tony opened his mouth to re-focus Palmer, "so I was kinda wondering if…if you'd go with me. Meena's only been gone twenty-four hours so I can't go to the police," he pleaded.

Tony was silent. "How do you know this is real?"

"They sent me a picture of her on my phone then erased it ten minutes later. She was holding a newspaper and her phone so I could see the time and date. Don't know how they did it. Maybe Abby could figure it out…"

"Where was she supposed to be today?" Tony asked.

"In New York visiting family. She hadn't checked in yet but her flight only landed an hour ago. Her apartment is in mint condition, no sign of a struggle. I visited as soon as I got the text," Palmer added after seeing Tony's distressed expression, not realizing he had disrupted a potential crime scene. "You've gotta help me!"

Tony contemplated the case, internally debating the pros and cons of the case. His friendship with Jimmy won out.

"Okay, where are you going to meet them?"

* * *

_This was a bad idea_. That mantra kept going through Tony's mind as he sat in Palmer's car on the way to the drop. Somehow, Palmer had talked him out of calling Gibbs. Still wasn't sure how that had happened…So here he was, sitting in Palmer's car, driving to the warehouse district. Really, for once couldn't criminals realize that warehouse districts screamed "There's something illegal going on! Come arrest me!" Why couldn't they ever meet in mansions, movie theaters, or food courts where he and Palmer could have picked up a pizza while they waited? His stomach growled to remind Tony that he hadn't eaten since-well, since breakfast, if you didn't count the bar from the vending machines as a meal, which it most definitely wasn't.

He was drawn out of the reverie by Palmer. "We're here," he said, stopping the car, "What can I do?"

Tony paused, unbuckling his seat belt, hand on the door, listening to the car idle. "Nothing until the other car shows up." He saw lights approaching, "Speak of the devil."

As Palmer turned off their engine, the other car pulled up across the pier, temporarily blinding Tony and Palmer in its brights. Tony prepared to get out of the car when he heard his car door open and he was dragged roughly out of the car by two thugs. The headlights of the other car went out and Tony looked over to see Palmer getting the same treatment he had, after his eyes adjusted. Tony also inspected the other car. Along with the cliché meeting place, the car screamed about illegal behavior. It was a black sedan, with darkly tinted windows, no front plates and no identifying marks.

Tony counted the number of men. No way that many car doors had opened, Tony thought. How had four men gotten out of the car and made it over to theirs before Tony could get out of the car? Damn. He had missed men hiding somewhere. He knew this had been a bad idea. His last case must've been more draining than he thought. Well, it had been over eighteen hours since he had slept. It was to be expected.

More car doors opened and the passenger got out, followed by the driver. Tony struggled momentarily, trying to get out of the henchmen's grip, but each had fifty pounds and three inches on Tony—and that was fifty pounds and three inches of pure muscle. He tried to get his gun unsuccessfully. His badge and gun were removed and handed to the man who was walking across the parking lot.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS," the passenger said, reading the badge. "And who is this?" he said, reaching for Jimmy's ID, "James Palmer, M.E.? As in Medical Examiner? This can't be right!" Momentary surprise crossed his face. "Which one of you has the file?"

Jimmy looked to Tony expectantly. "In the back," Tony said, shuffling over as much as he could to block the door to the backseat, "Let's see the girl first."

He felt himself being turned around, followed by a hard punch to his gut. He sucked in deeply, trying to get air into his lungs. His knees buckled slightly and the thugs responded by throwing him hard against the car.

"You are in no position to give orders," the passenger, who was presumably the boss, said. "Get the file."

The driver went around to Palmer's side, grabbing the file out of the back and handing it to the leader. The leader smiled, opening the file. His joy quickly turned to anger. He flipped angrily through the file, pages flying everywhere.

He nodded to the men who pulled Tony away from the car. The leader approached Tony, punching him in the jaw. "Where is the file?"

Tony struggled to bite back a smart answer, unsuccessfully. "I confess. The real file's at home. That's just my updated bucket list. How stupid of me to not bring the real thing!"

The leader reddened and punched Tony in the gut again while Palmer looked on helplessly. Palmer had already tried to free himself with no avail. The guards let go of Tony who fell to his knees.

"Where's the real file?" The leader was livid.

"In your hand, you dimwit! That's the file you wanted," Tony answered once he could breathe again.

"No! It isn't!" the leader spat.

Tony took a deep breath and got to his feet, shooting Palmer an accusatory look.

"That's the file, Tony! I swear!" Palmer cried nervously.

The leader now realized his error. He had assumed Tony was the boyfriend of Meena, and now realized he was mistaken.

"Bring them here." The goons forced Tony and Palmer to the front of Palmer's car. They stood, backs to the headlights, shoulder to shoulder.

"Which one of you got the file?" the leader asked.

Tony could see this was going to get ugly-and fast. He'd looked at the file on the way here. It was your everyday hold-up with a marine, trying to act as the Good Samaritan, shot by an overanxious robber. He'd survived fortunately. The robbers had been caught on film. Open and shut. No reason to kidnap a hostage and ask for the file. Now he understood. "I-" Tony began.

"It was me," Palmer interrupted.

"This is the wrong file you nitwit! I asked for casefile 6C149207. You gave me 6C1492007," he said, pronouncing the end 'double oh seven'.

"How very James Bond," Tony remarked, earning another punch to the gut.

"Enough of your smart mouth!" the leader yelled, saliva flying.

"Get me the correct file in twenty-four hours or she dies!" he got right in Palmer's face. Then his face changed.

"You can't have the security clearance necessary to get me the document I need. So instead," he commented thoughtfully, turning to Tony, "_you_ get me the file. Your friend's life depends on it-his girlfriend's too."

The leader nodded to the driver. Tony turned slightly to keep an eye on the driver, catching the driver's punch squarely in the face. The guard held him tighter as the leader approached, a syringe in hand. He felt a sharp pain in his arm and the world began to swirl. He felt himself being released and hit the ground fighting consciousness. As the world faded, he saw Palmer being shoved into the car. "24 hours," he heard faintly. "Do not involve Agent Gibbs." He heard the getaway car rev and pull away in reverse.

Tony's last coherent thought was that he was unable to read the license plate before his world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS. If I did though, Season 4 would've ended with Tony's car blowing up. Not that 'Professor DiNardo' wasn't awesome, but the car bomb would've been way more intense. Also, Tony's final contribution to Season 7 would have ended with hands pulling him off screen, with no mention of Mike Franks still being alive. Would have been a way more intriguing summer. Anyway, back to the story.

* * *

A shooting pain brought Tony back to consciousness. He opened his eyes to discover it was morning. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his head throbbing. He squinted at his watch. Past nine. Gibbs was going to _kill_ him.

He took a quick mental inventory of himself. His stomach ached and his face stung. He felt his cheekbone-yep, that was definitely gonna bruise. He probed the back of his head, his fingers coming away caked with blood. He must have hit his head on the ground after being injected. Speaking of which, that was some strong stuff they'd given him since it knocked him out for this long. Hopefully that was all out of his system…

Tony looked around to see his badge and gun, along with Palmer's ME license on the ground. He wasn't sure why—maybe it was his inner investigator—but he took out his phone and took pictures of their position before he picked them up.

Now, on to more pressing matters. What was that damn file number? Something 007. He pushed himself to his feet, a smile lighting up his face. The file was strewn over the ground by the driver's side of the car. It was his lucky day. As he carefully bent down and collected it, he considered the problem this good fortune also posed: how he was going to get this back into Records and get the real file? Without telling Gibbs? And in 24 hours. That was almost a super-human job. So…where was Clark Kent when you needed him?

And then there was the matter of fooling Gibbs: He couldn't _not_ go to work. Gibbs would find out and suspect something was up. He got into Palmer's car, finding the keys still in ignition, giving himself an once-over in the rear view mirror. He had a split lip and a large bruise forming on his cheek. Even in his own mind, he looked terrible, a rare state for Anthony DiNozzo. He'd stop home, get cleaned up as quickly as possible, and go into work. Maybe it'd be a slow day and he could sneak away to get Abby or McGee's help in finding the right file. But a more immediate issue arose: What was he going to tell Gibbs?

* * *

"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Gibbs came marching into the squad room.

Ziva and McGee gave each other confused looks.

"Why would we know? It's Tony. He probably bought his barista a coffee and lost track of the time." McGee replied.

"His planner is empty," Ziva remarked guiltily from across the room.

"Somebody call him. We got a case."

The elevator dinged and a cleaned-up Tony ran in. "Here boss."

"You're late, DiNozzo." Tony opened his mouth to protest. "No time. We got a dead marine. Gas up the truck."

"On it boss." As Tony turned to walk back to the elevator, Gibbs saw the facial bruising and split lip.

"DiNozzo, what the hell happened?"

Tony paused, trying to justify lying to Gibbs. "Muggers broke into my landlord's room. I tried to help her. There were more than I thought. One clocked me and they got away."

"Anything missing?" Gibbs inquired.

"No. They were just getting started when I barged in."

"You report it?"

"Yeah. Metro's working on it. I know how you feel about apologies, so I'll just say it won't happen again."

Gibbs knew Tony was lying, but temporarily decided to let it play out.

"You have someone look at that?" Gibbs replied, motioning to Tony's face, knowing full well the answer would be 'no'. He wasn't disappointed.

"I was trying to get back—" Tony faltered momentarily under Gibbs' glare.

"Go have Ducky look you over. Meet us at the crime scene," Gibbs scrawled an address on a Post-It and handed it to Tony, "when you're done."

Tony could have jumped for joy. Trying to keep his face black, he replied, "Will do boss."

"Ziva, McGee, gear up. Ziva, you drive." The look on McGee's face was priceless.

"You have a barf bag handy, McQueasy?" Despite the dire situation, Tony couldn't help teasing McGee as he headed down to autopsy.

* * *

Ducky looked up as the Autopsy door slid open.

"Anthony. Gibbs was looking for you."

"Yeah, he sent me down here. I got into," he paused, deciding on the right words, "an altercation with a suspect," he said, pointing to his face. "Gibbs wanted you to look it over, but," he saw the body "if you're too busy…"

"No, no, sit down. Let's take a look at you. By the way, you haven't seen Mr. Palmer have you? Ever since he stopped seeing Agent Lee, his tardiness is rather unusual."

Tony hissed as Ducky palpated the bruise on his cheek.

"Is that all?" Ducky asked, knowing it was in Tony's nature to hide his greater injuries while complaining loudly about the smaller ones. Tony hesitated. "Don't make me call Gibbs," Ducky threatened.

"I may have hit my head," Tony finally confessed, deciding this battle with Ducky was definitely not worth it.

Ducky cleaned up the back of his head and examined Tony's pupils before declaring, "No concussion and nothing appears to be broken. Take ibuprofen if your head or face begins to hurt and you could ice it to keep down the swelling." His suggestion fell on deaf ears. Ducky knew Tony wouldn't take any pain killers since they had a rather adverse effect on his personality and concentration. Oh well, it didn't hurt to continue to offer his advice.

Tony jumped off the table a bit too quickly. He winced as his stomach resisted the rapid movement.

Ducky noticed the wince. "Anthony," he cautioned.

"Just a punch to the gut, Duck. Really, I'm fine. I'll tell Palmer you're looking for him if I see him. Thanks." He scurried out of autopsy.

"That's Doctor Mallard to you, my friend." Ducky shook his head disapprovingly at Tony's retreating form before returning to his patient. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how you met your demise…"

* * *

The elevator opened at Abby's lab. Tony hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to get her involved, but it was the best way to find the file's location.

"Tony!" Abby cried. "What are you doing down—What happened to your face? Are you okay?" she rambled.

"Just a run-in with a suspect. Can you keep a secret, like you did for the Domino op?"

Abby immediately turned serious. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just pinky swear you will," Tony replied, knowing that Abby considered breaking this type of promise sinful. He held out his pinky finger.

Abby thought for a moment, sighed and held her pinky out as well. They shook.

"Abby, I need your help."

"Sure Tony. What is it?"

He handed her the file. "I need to know where this file—with another zero on the end—can be found."

"Tony, what's going on? This is from Records. You shouldn't have this."

"Please, Abs. It's important."

She sighed deeply and went back to the computer.

"No Abs, it ends in 'double-oh-seven' not seventy," he corrected.

She glared at him. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Tony opened his mouth to reply and was cut off by the ding of the computer.

"Whatcha got Abby?" he asked as Abby turned around grimly.

"Tony. The file you want isn't ours. It's top-level clearance CIA."

"Abby, you pinky promised not to tell Gibbs. Just don't okay?" he said, as she tried to argue. "It's not only about me. There's more than my ass riding on this one."

"Tony! What's all this about?" Abby was starting to get worried.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Abs, I can't tell you right now," he said seriously, "but it involves more than just me, so you can't get involved. But you can help me with one more thing."

Abby looked reluctant and doubtful.

"Can you get me Trent Kort's phone number?"

* * *

_Next chapter will be up soon. Thanks to all who Story Alerted or Reviewed! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own NCIS. But, writers of NCIS, if you are reading this, I would like to see Gibbs' and Tony's first case. Maybe the criminal coming back for a little revenge. Maybe even a look at why Shelley was so honored that Tony had his back ("Reunion"). I'm thinking the next season finale. Sound good to you?

* * *

For the second time today, Gibbs felt himself wondering "Where the hell is DiNozzo?" DiNozzo had not yet shown up to the crime scene and over two hours had passed. Not that they really needed him. The case was seemingly straightforward. A marine murdered by a jealous ex, who was found at the scene, murder weapon in hand. A neighbor had caught her in the act. Being a policeman, he had called NCIS. McGee was shooting, Ziva taking the officer's statement.

There was something about Tony's actions and outright lie that had led Gibbs to bite his tongue and not call Tony out. But this was getting ridiculous. Tony really must be in trouble. His gut was telling him so, and, frankly, when was his gut ever wrong?

He pulled out his phone and called Abby.

"Gibbs!" Abby sounded less enthusiastic than usual, but Gibbs momentarily discarded it.

"You heard from DiNozzo lately?"

"Well…no. Not lately," she hesitated.

The outright deflection told Gibbs the whole story. "Abby. You can't lie to me. When was he in?"

"Gibbs! He came in with that awful bruise and asked me to look up this file, which I did in, like a minute. Easiest thing I've done all year—"

"Abby," Gibbs warned. "What was the file on?"

"Patience my silver haired fox. I couldn't access it, CIA top-level security. You probably couldn't access it. Well, maybe _you_ could. But that's beside the point Gibbs! He ran away after asking for Trent Kort's number! Gibbs, it's gotta be serious! Tony hates Kort!"

"Trace his phone. We're coming."

_What had DiNozzo gotten himself into this time?_

* * *

Tony sat on a park bench outside the Washington Monument. He'd left Kort a message telling him to meet here as 12:00.

It was almost noon now. He hoped Kort would come. They hadn't parted on the best of terms. Actually, Tony had punched him in the face once. But Kort had blown up Tony's car, trying to kill him… So they were about square as far as that was concerned. He _hated_ relying on Kort, but the autopsy gremlin needed him.

This was so _Bourne Identity_. Marie drawn unwillingly into Jason's problems. And look how it ended for them.

He stopped daydreaming as Kort walked up.

"DiNozzo," Kort said, stopping by the bench.

"Kort," Tony replied curtly.

"This had better be important. You are the last person I would want to help."

"Trust me. You are the last person I'd want to ask for help. But it's out of my hands."

"You've got thirty seconds to explain."

Tony couldn't help himself, "That would take too long. Let me sum up." He paused slightly, getting no reaction from Kort. "Come on! That was at least a little bit funny. It's not often someone sets you up like that." Tony hesitated, collecting his thoughts.

"Our assistant M.E.'s girlfriend was kidnapped. They want a file. I went to the exchange as back-up in case _it_ hit the fan. Which it did. He had the wrong file. The one they want is top-secret CIA. I can't access it."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't walk away after all the trouble you caused me in the Grenouille case."

"We helped you out when you had that 'situation' where you shot those two people-"

"Technically, you never proved that," Kort pointed out.

Tony continued over Kort's rebuttal, "-you might have called in a favor with Gibbs, but now you owe _me_ one.

Kort thought for a moment. "Say hypothetically I wanted to help you. What was the file number?" Tony recited it. "That's top secret. Above even my pay grade."

"Hasn't stopped you before."

Kort nodded once in agreement.

"I do this—we're even. You never call me again. Even if your brother's in trouble."

"Don't have a brother. How fast can you get the file?"

"1700" Kort replied.

"Gonna need it sooner. How 'bout 1500?" Tony bartered.

"You want to go get it yourself?" Kort began to walk away.

"1600. Final offer." Tony conceded.

"We'll see." Kort called over his shoulder.

Tony's phone rang. He looked down at the Caller ID. Gibbs. _Busted_.

"Hey boss! I was just on my way—"

"DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing?"

"What, boss?"

"If you still want your job when this is over, meet me at NCIS. Yesterday." Gibbs hung up.

Tony put his phone away, contemplating the amount of trouble he was really in, and how much that Gibbs-slap was gonna hurt.

* * *

Tony walked into the squad room to find his co-workers going about their normal business. The only hint that something was up was Abby's presence; she had apparently made one of her rare trips from forensics to meet him.

Abby approached the elevator and head-slapped an unsuspecting Tony, who was braced for a typical Abby hug. "You should've come clean to Gibbs," she reprimanded him.

Abby was interrupted by Gibbs calling "Conference room" from across the bullpen.

Tony found himself at the head of the table, surrounded by stern (McGee), concerned (Ziva and Abby) and even angry faces.

Gibbs, the latter, cleared his throat. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" he said evenly.

Half an hour later, the tale was complete.

"Well, the first thing is to get Palmer and Meena back. We'll know more when we have the file. McGee, trace-"

"Tony's cell phone, see if another was in the vicinity at 2200 last night."

"Ziva-"

"Palmer's records and call my sources about the contexts of this file."

"That's _content_, Ziva, not contexts." Tony corrected, as Ziva exited, even though Ziva clearly wasn't listening.

"Abby." She looked up expectantly. "Go over Palmer's car. I assume it's still here," Gibbs turned expectantly to Tony, who nodded. "See if you can get something off the handles or whatever. Meet back here at 1500 to head to the meet," he called loudly so Ziva and McGee could hear.

Gibbs turned to leave.

"Boss, what about me?" Tony asked, just as Gibbs stated, "DiNozzo, with me."

They left the conference room and headed into the elevator.

"Where are we going Boss?" Tony asked.

Gibbs did not answer, instead pulling the emergency stop on the elevator. He was silent for a second before turning to Tony and slapping him on the back of the head.

"Tony, why didn't you come to me first?"

"Well, boss, besides that guy specifically stating not to, I wanted to prove that I was capable of dealing with something like this by myself. Prove that I'm more than just the team wildcard."

"Tony, we all know you are a very capable agent. You've proven yourself on many occasions, especially when you stepped up after I…retired."

"Really boss?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Some cases are more than one person can handle. That's why we're on a team." Gibbs pulled the switch, restarting the elevator, before continuing. "Come to us next time instead of lying to us."

"Boss…" Tony began, but the rare moment of affection was over. Gibbs was all business. The elevator door opened on the forensics lab.

"DiNozzo, go see if you can remember a general description of the leader and get Abby to run it."

"On it boss," Tony left the elevator.

"And DiNozzo," Tony turned back to face Gibbs, "we've got your six."

The elevator doors closed and Tony smiled, heading into Abby's lab.

* * *

1500 came faster than anyone expected. Tony had put together a general description of the leader, who was as nondescript as you can be. There were no AFIS or Interpol matches yet. Ziva had not found out much, except the file was "top-top secret", as one of her contacts had put it; apparently, only a select few knew about its contents. McGee revealed that the only cell phone in a five mile radius of the meet was the line to a Chinese restaurant whose owner was a clean as a whistle. Palmer's cell phone held no clues and his ID, along with Tony's badge and gun, were sent to Abby's lab for fingerprinting. McGee had even run Tony's description of the car, but it was too vague to get a solid match. From the pictures Tony had taken and the fact that the car had not raced away, they had not found any tire tracks.

The team convened with no new information, much to Gibbs' dismay.

"Ziva, McGee—gear up. DiNozzo, get a vest."

"Aw, boss. A vest to meet with Kort? I know he hates me, but this is kinda riducu-" Gibbs' sharp glare cut Tony off.

"On it boss," Tony sighed unhappily.

Tony went to his desk, pulling out his bulletproof vest, which unearthed a large cloud of dust from the bottom drawer. He coughed in surprise.

"Vest not get much use Tony?" Ziva asked playfully. "I could always use more practice with my SIG…"

"Very funny, Zee-vah," Tony replied, unbuttoning his shirt to conceal the vest underneath.

As he finished suiting up, he muttered, "I hope it doesn't get any use today."

* * *

_Shout out to scousemuz1k for reviewing. Other reviews always welcome. _

_Is it September yet? _

_P.S. All actors but Sean Murray have renewed contracts for Season Eight. :)  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_Here's the deal: Two chapters in two days in exchange for a little help. I have two NCIS scenes stuck in my head and would love to know which episodes they are from. Already Googled-no luck. The first is where Tony and Gibbs are confronting a suspect. The suspect tries to run away, zigzagging and such, to avoid being chased. Tony follows him, says something about "Is that running?" Gibbs goes around and beats the suspect to the car, something about "About time you got here DiNozzo", which is met by "That running style is highly effective" from a panting DiNozzo. The second one was when Tony and Gibbs (and maybe McGee) have to interrogate the sick CO and Team Gibbs acts very germophobic, avoiding handshakes and such, to avoid catching the cold. Please leave me a review with this information! Thanks! Enjoy this chapter! _

* * *

The park looked the same as it did a few hours ago. Except it was about ten times more crowded. All those government employees were apparently either on break or hosting super secret meetings in very public places.

_Keeping tabs on Tony was going to be impossible_, Gibbs thought, taking his position at a newsstand a couple hundred feet away. Gibbs tried to take this opportunity to get caught up on the newest gossip in Hollywood, so he maybe could understand half of the movie references Tony made, but half-way in, Gibbs realized he knew who _none_ of these people were, and gave up. McGee was stationed in the car, in case something bad went down and a chase ensued, and Ziva was taking pictures not too far away from the bench.

"Kort's coming." Ziva's alert rang through the com-link.

Tony looked up to see Kort approaching, a thick file in his hand.

"You found it."

"No, DiNozzo, this is my Christmas list for Santa. This is not just one file: it is an entire dossier on Milton Berle."

Tony snickered. "You're kidding, right? Milton Berle?"

"No, I'm not," Kort answered sharply, handing Tony the file. "I don't have to tell you this file is top-secret. Even I am going to be owing people for a time to come. If this gets out, I'm not the only one they'll be ripping apart."

"Thanks for your concern. I'll manage."

Kort began to walk away.

"Kort," Tony called, trying to make small amends, considering how much Kort had just stuck out his neck for Tony. Maybe Kort did feel bad for almost getting Tony killed…Nah! Who was he kidding? "Couldn't've done it without you," Tony finally said, deciding that wasn't too sappy or personal.

It was Kort's turn to scoff as he called over his shoulder, "I sure hope that ME's worth it…"

Tony got up, browsing through the file as he walked to the car. Nothing stood out. Berle was killed by an IED in Iraq six months ago. Spotless service record.

He was so engrossed by the file that he had to be shocked into awareness by Ziva's sharp "Tony! Behind you!"

Tony turned, but was hit with something from behind. The attacker took the file as Tony crumpled to the ground unconscious.

"Agent down! Agent down!" Ziva called, sending the team into high alert.

"Ziva, follow him. McGee, see if you can spot him." Gibbs took off towards his fallen agent.

Ziva had begun to follow the jogger who had knocked out Tony and stolen the file, but he had a large head start. Ziva narrowed the gap, avoiding pedestrians, strollers, and even cars as she pursued the man across the street.

"McGee. He's on Main, heading north on foot." She swore in Hebrew as the jogger, or more accurately, the sprinter, knocked over a bicyclist and stole the bike. "He's on a bike. I'm going to lose him. Where are you McGee?"

"Stuck in traffic," McGee answered. He slammed the steering wheel in frustration as he saw the bicyclist make a left and disappear down J-street. "Did you get a description?"

"Didn't see his face. Tall about 6'1", 185-190 pounds, dark-haired, athletic build."

McGee finally turned at the light, but the bicyclist was long gone. He sighed heavily before turning the car around with some difficulty. He parked by the Monument and ran to where Tony and Gibbs were.

Tony was sitting on the ground being examined by a rather cute paramedic as Gibbs stood, stoically and protectively, close by. McGee knew Tony was all right after he started hitting on the EMT.

"Really," he protested as the EMT continued to examine him. "I'm fine. Look." He put his finger in front of his face and followed it up, down, left and right without moving his head. He also rattled off the date, his current location, his name, and his birthday.

"This happen often?" The EMT asked, very amused by Tony's actions.

"Probably more than it should," Gibbs cut in, as Tony went to protest.

"Come on Boss. It doesn't happen that often. Don't listen to him," Tony told the EMT.

"Well Tony. Boss is right. There was that time when you got into that bar fight after making out with that he-she. And the time where Petty Officer Barbara Swain knocked you out with the vase," McGee countered.

"Don't go there McGee," Tony warned, but Ziva had already picked up where McGee had left off.

"Not to mention the time when he went under cover as Jean-Paul Ranier. AND the time when you were taken hostage in the Morgue by that drug-dealer. He watched you over the head with a gun, right?" Ziva continued.

"I think you mean _clocked_, not watched. And just_ how_ did_ you_ find out about that last one?" Tony questioned suspiciously.

"Director Sheppard and I are very good friends. You should know that by now, Tony."

"Oh! There's also your beating during the Domino op. And when Mike Franks whacked you over the head so he could lure out Arkady. And who could forget our time in Somalia?" McGee continued over Tony's interjection.

"You forgot the time where he was drugged by the waitress who was getting revenge on Bill Atlas," Gibbs threw in, an amused smile on his face.

McGee nodded gleefully while remembering. Was this what Tony felt like when he was teasing McGee with all the McNicknames? It _was_ kinda fun.

"And that's just the ass-kickings. There's also the time when—" Ziva began again.

"All right! All right! That's enough! Way to kick a Senior Field Agent when he's down." Tony turned to the EMT. "Don't listen to them. It's just what any ruggedly handsome, fiercely loyal, and currently available federal agent would experience."

"Well," said the EMT with an amused smile to match Gibbs' while she packed up, "there is a slight concussion and I would keep him under observation for the next twenty-four hours. If he begins to feel disoriented or unfocused, he needs to visit the ED."

"Any more than usual?" McGee commented to Ziva, slight relief creeping into his voice.

Tony gave McGee a glare that rivaled Gibbs'. "You say something McSmart Ass?"

"No. No, Tony. I didn't. Just glad you're okay."

Tony got up, slightly unsteadily, and turned to look at Ziva and McGee. "Where is he? Didn't you get him?" His partners shook their heads.

"He got away on a bike," McGee replied.

Tony swore under his breath. "So I'm supposed to meet them tonight empty-handed?" Anger crept into his voice. "Palmer and his girlfriend are—" he was cut off by a gentler-than-usual Gibbs-slap.

"Thank you boss."

"What did you see about the file before it was stolen?" Gibbs inquired.

"It belonged to a Milton Berle, killed by an IED in Iraq six months ago. Nothing on his service record other than rapid promotions."

"Why would someone kidnap Palmer and his girlfriend in order to get this information? There is nothing scandalous or revenge-worthy about it." Ziva wondered. "Clearly, it was a tragedy and not a personal killing. Unless someone thought it was a covers down, there would have been no further investigation."

"That'd be _cover up_, Ziva, not covers down," Tony corrected. Ziva's reply was cut-off by Gibbs' phone ringing.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs!" Abby's voice rang out so loud Gibbs had to pull the phone away from his ear. "Are you okay? How's everyone else—Tony! Is Tony okay? McGee and Ziva—oh! I knew you shouldn't have gone—I had really bad dream last night about you guys—"

"Abby. Breathe." Gibbs ordered. Abby inhaled loudly. "We're all fine. Tony took a small hit to the head. He's fine-really," he added as Abby gasped. "You know how block-headed Tony can be."

"Did you catch the guy?"

"Well, Kort didn't hit Tony if that's what you were asking," Gibbs told her, knowing how Abby hated Trent Kort and how much she wanted to see him in Autopsy. "It was someone else."

"Who would want that file?" Abby wondered.

"You call for a reason, Abs?" Gibbs steered Abby back on track.

"Oh…yeah! I dusted Tony and Palmer's badges—well, Tony's badge and Palmer's ID. Most were theirs but one pair wasn't. I enhanced the print into enough to get a partial. I'm running it through AFIS. It hasn't come back yet. Got some prints from the car. Not the same as the badge. I'm running it now. One pair is registered to Richard Castle, your average joe. Hard-worker according to his employment file, divorced twice, one child of whom he has custody. Lived in New York since 1982. According to his DMV photo, he is not the man Tony described as the leader."

"What's his connection to Palmer or Tony?"

"There's none so far. But you know me, Gibbs: I'm the Energizer Bunny of Forensic Science. Speaking of which, haven't I earned a Caf-Pow! yet?"

"Keep looking Abby and you can put one on my tab later," Gibbs hung up. He turned back to Tony, who was getting to his feet, albeit somewhat unsteadily.

"I'm fine Boss," Tony countered Gibbs' sharp glare with one of his own.

After making a mental note to keep an eye on DiNozzo, Gibbs rallied the disheartened troops back to the squad room.

* * *

Abby ambushed the team the moment they stepped out of the elevator.

"TONNNYYY!" Abby cried, wrapping said agent in a bone-crushing hug.

"Ab-by!" Tony gasped, "You-re kill-ing me!"

"Oh, sorry!" Abby let go, skipping back a step. "I'm just glad you're alright." She turned to McGee, Ziva and Gibbs as if just noticing them. "You're all okay?" They nodded.

"You got something Abs?" Gibbs asked, commenting on Abby's usually uncharacteristic visit to the squad room, which were becoming more and more frequent, especially when a certain Senior Field Agent was involved.

"Well, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"Bad news," McGee answered as Ziva replied "Good news."

"Okay, McGee was first. The bad news is Ducky may or may not have found out that we kinda forgot to tell him about Palmer. He's on his way up." Gibbs gave Abby a softer version of his usual glare. "What? I thought he already knew—Palmer being his assistant and all."

"The good news Abs? So you can redeem yourself?" Gibbs challenged.

"The prints on the badges came back. Registered to Joseph Kemps." She bounced over to McGee's computer and pulled up his service report.

"He's MI5. Retired. Moved back to DC in 2002. No record about his early life, except he attended a local DC school. Short-term. Only a semester. He has an address listed but he moved out two weeks ago and left no forwarding address. Didn't call the DMV either…it's been ten days. That's a crime you know-"

"McGee, run Milton Berle and this Kemps fellow. Look for any similarities." Gibbs called out as the elevator opened and an angry Ducky stepped out. This was not going to be pretty.

* * *

Palmer woke in a dark room, meaning there were no windows or it was pitch black outside. He didn't know which. Upon shifting positions, he discovered a mesh bag over his head, blocking his sight but allowing him to breathe. Probably a potato sack. Which brought back memories of his childhood, the county fair, and his undefeated season as Potato Sack Champion, which garnered him a cool $150. He couldn't help grinning as he remembered what he had done with the portion of the money he didn't invest: bought a 5-year subscription to _Playpen_. _And_ he'd had managed to keep it hidden from his parents.

But he could reminisce another time. The memories came flooding back to him: _asking Tony for help, talking Tony out of calling Gibbs, the silent car ride there, and_, Palmer winced, _the wrong file, followed by his being drugged with something and losing consciousness._ A few movements later and Palmer discovered he was tied tightly to a chair.

He leaned his head back in surrender and collided with a semi-soft object. As if on cue, his sense of smell kicked in. He recognized the scent as White Linen perfume.

"Meena," he called softly. "Are you alright?"

"Jimmy! Oh God! Jimmy! Where are we! What happened!" Meena's voice became more and more hysterical and increasing in volume.

"Meena! You've got to keep your voice down!" Palmer whispered. "Trust me!"

"Jimmy!" Meena resumed in a quieter tone, "I was walking up to my house, and someone grabbed me from behind and put something sticky-smelling over my face. When I woke up, I was here—all alone for a long time. Then someone came in with a mask and propped up a laptop in my lap and took a picture. Then he must have drugged me 'cause I lost consciousness and…and now you're here and where are we? Oh God Jimmy! I don't want to die!" Menna's voice again grew louder and louder.

"Meena!" Jimmy whispered, slightly more harshly this time, while searching for her hand behind the chair, "You have to keep your voice down. It's going to be okay. Tony will pull through. Though he can be a real joker, he's one of the better NCIS agents. We're in quite capable hands." Jimmy reassured, finally locating Meena's hand.

They sat in silence for a moment. Jimmy went on alert the minute he saw something partially blocking the yellow light that was leaking in from under the door through the mesh pattern of his hood.

"Milton…IED…Iraq…close." Jimmy strained to hear more, knowing everything he remembered could help Team Gibbs solve the case.

"He was…my brother…Killed by an IED! No way!...It was that case…" The shadow wandered away from the door, the voice drifting off. He must be pacing, Jimmy thought, because the voice became clearer again before fading off continually. "I will have my revenge!...prisoners…let go."

The feet stopped and another set appeared, fully blocking the light. A shiver went down his spine as he heard "They are expendable. No longer needed."

The door opened and the two sets of feet entered. One was dark brown Ermenegildo Zegna Couture Oxford's, valued at $2400, and the other was a pair of Sketchers. Clearly, someone was making a lot more money than his partner.

Jimmy felt a prick in his arm and fought briefly against his bonds before he lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Standard disclaimer. NCIS writers, what I would really like to see before the show is over, is Tony finally getting recognized as the capable agent we know and love. It would be nice if 'The Toothpick' discovered that Tony is more than just a joker and that he actually is a pretty good investigator. Or Tony could finally receive a medal of some sort, so he could actually give the speech he has had prepared since Season Three.

* * *

"Whatcha got McGee?"

"Nothing yet boss. I'm running Milton Berle and Joseph Kemps looking for a connection. None yet."

"Keep looking."

"Ziva-"

"Berle was an honorable soldier who was set to be discharged this month. Born and raised in DC. Attended American University, graduated Summa Cum Laude. Went into the Marines right after graduation. His family was very surprised—he had wanted to pursue in theater. Quite a twitch of fate, yes?"

"_Twist_, Ziva. _Twist_ of fate." Tony automatically corrected from his desk.

"Did you find a connection between Berle and Kemps?"

Ziva hesitated before answering, "No."

"DiNozzo?"

"Trying to remember anything I could have forgotten. Got nothing new so far. What'd Ducky say?" Tony ventured curiously.

"None of your damn business." Gibbs' ears were still ringing from the chewing-out Ducky had given him for not informing him about the situation. He turned in frustration to face his colleagues. "The drop is in," he checked his watch, "less than five hours and we've got nothing."

"Yes we do!" Abby came bouncing in from the elevator. She paused by Tony's desk. "You're not looking so good. You sure you're okay?" Concern was etched on Abby's face.

"I'm fine, Abs. Really." Tony stated. The look on Abby's face told him she didn't believe him.

"You got something Abby?" Gibbs interrupted. Abby was right though. DiNozzo was looking pretty worn, very similar, in fact, to the day when he returned to work after catching the plague…Gibbs looked at McGee and Ziva, neither of whom were looking much better. They hadn't really had a break after the last case before being propelled headlong into this one. He made a mental note to give his team a break. After they caught Kemps.

"Well, Tony, you're welcome to come down to my lab anytime and use Bert as a pillow. The futon's still under my desk too." She turned to Gibbs. "Gibbs! This is good! You'll never guess!"

"They went to the same school?"

Abby deflated. "Why do I ask? You always know! Can't you just once—"

"Both went to a high school in DC. If he's going to steal the file, they must have been close at one time." He waited for a moment. "The details Abs?"

"Fine, Gibbs. I knew there was a reason you keep me around. So, I ran Kemps' passport again and dug deep into the records server for the past thirty years. Not fun. Anyway, Kemps and Berle attended John F. Kennedy High in Silver Springs. Kemps was an exchange student. He stayed with the Berle's, who were the Johnson's at the time. Berle was the mom's name from her first marriage, so Milty kept it. They apparently stayed in touch." She turned and pointed at McGee. "Tell 'im, Elf Lord."

"I found an e-mail in Kemps mailbox from Berle's personal account inviting Kemps to the 15 year reunion. E-mail account registered to Milton only, no last name, which is why it didn't show up immediately. I've also cross-referenced the credit card records for both and got a hit: they met last year in Frankfurt. Both cards were swiped by the same server within seconds of each other. And, according to the receipts, they split a dessert, which was divided between both checks."

"But why would an old friend steal his friend's death certificate?" Tony wondered.

"It is more than just that Tony. Terrorism was considered so the dossier is the entire CIA/NCIS joint investigation file, crime scene notes, and witness statements."

"So, he's looking for closure? It was ruled an unfortunate act of terrorism, right? Why didn't we have the case?"

"We had our own. Lieutenant Emma Paxton's murder. We were also busy looking for a brontosaurus who could make mimeograph work." Gibbs smirked, turning to McGee and raising one eyebrow slightly.

"Boss, that's not what I meant," McGee began, but was cut-off by Gibbs again.

"The case was reassigned. Ruled a tragedy. Apparently Kemps thinks otherwise."

Gibbs began walking out of the bullpen. "Ziva, meet me at the car in ten. We're going to interview Berle's wife. DiNozzo, take McGee to Abby's. Try to put together a file on Berle that will hold together at casual glance. Then call Berle's CO." Gibbs turned back to DiNozzo. "And clean-up some. You look like hell. It wouldn't hurt you either, McGee."

"Thank you boss, but I'm pretty sure McGeek looks much worse than I do," Tony remarked, coming up behind McGee. McGee elbowed Tony sharply in the gut in the same place Kemps had hit him yesterday. Tony grabbed McGee's desk for support as he clutched his torso, fighting temporary dizziness and lack of breath that overwhelmed him.

"Oh God Tony! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot!" McGee apologized, getting up to vacate his chair for Tony. This did not go unnoticed by Gibbs as the elevator doors closed on the scene.

* * *

"I'm fine McHeavyweight. Really." Tony was breathing much better but he decided to humor McGee who practically forced Tony into his chair, while Abby hovered close by. McGee's move had caught Tony off-guard; otherwise Tony would have been in better control of his emotions.

He looked over to see Ziva's concerned face looking at him.

"I'm fine, Zee-vah," Tony stated yet again.

"You say that Tony but your face says otherwise. And you are starting to sound like a broken record."

"_Tape_. _Tape_, Ziva. Sheesh. Aren't you going to get any of these idioms right today?"

"I thought it was _record_. Didn't you tell me that on the day we met?"

Tony grinned. "You had it right the first time." Ziva glared at him.

Abby took this opportunity to punch McGee in the arm.

"Ow!" McGee cried. "What was that for?"

"For hurting Tony! Hasn't he been through enough already today? First, Jimmy's kidnapped with his girlfriend-"

"Actually, Meena was kidnapped first," McGee cut in, earning him a sharp Abby-glare that rivaled Gibbs'.

Ziva, sensing the building war, quickly grabbed Abby's hand, pulling her towards the elevator.

"I think I left something in your lab," Tony and McGee heard Ziva say as the elevator doors closed.

"Tony. Are you sure—"

"The next person who asks me that will get a Gibbs-slap! I don't care if it's the Boss himself!" Tony got up angrily. "It's not me we need to worry about! It's Palmer and Meena! I'm FINE!"

McGee stood in stunned silence at Tony's outburst.

"I'm sorry Probie. It's just—a lot has happened in the last few days. I guess I kinda lost it."

"Don't apologize," McGee reminded, internally shocked that Tony was revealing his true feelings to him, "or it won't be me who's going to get Gibbs-slapped. And don't worry too much. We'll find them."

"Damn straight," Tony couldn't help grinning, as they headed down to Abby's lab.

* * *

An orchestra of car horns followed a sedan down the highway. The driver of said sedan was seemingly unaffected by the speed or the noise. His passenger, Israeli assassin that she was, appeared a little more concerned. Even she was looking a bit green. Gibbs was practically driving in…what was that thing? Tony was mentioning it all the time…Wrap speed?

"Where are we going Gibbs?" Ziva finally questioned after a few minutes.

"To interview the wife."

"What do you hope to learn from the wife?"

"If I knew that, Ziver, we wouldn't be making this drive." Said drive was finished in silence.

The former Mrs. Berle willingly let the NCIS agents into her home.

"I know this is hard for you, Mrs. Berle, but what can you tell me about your husband?"

She sat stiffly, almost at attention. "Can you be more specific? There's kind of a lot about him."

"Was he involved in any major disagreements before he was killed?"

The widow was immediately suspicious. "I thought his death was an accident. I was told he was killed by an IED."

"We're not sure, ma'am. We're just coating some ground that was missed a few months ago," Ziva explained.

"Does she mean _covering_?" Mrs. Berle asked.

"Could you answer the question?" Gibbs refocused her attention to the task at hand.

"Milton was a nice guy. He wasn't home much. We didn't really speak after he returned from his first tour which deployed just one month after we were married. That's why we got the divorce." Mrs. Berle began to soften. "I loved my husband-I really did. But it was just too hard, waiting at home for him. I had to start my own life, my own career. In the days leading to our divorce, he received an angry phone call. He wouldn't say from whom, but it shook him up a little. He wasn't the same after that: rattled, jumpy, anxious. I'd never seen him that way before. And now, he's gone." She broke into tears.

Gibbs crossed to her side of the table, and put his arm around her shoulders, which seemed to have a calming effect on her.

"Is there anything else you could tell us about your husband?"

"He was a computer genius. When he wasn't busy, he spent all his free time at his computer doing stuff I couldn't understand. He was so excited when he thought he'd discovered this method to do something geeky. I never knew what he was talking about. He wanted to keep it under wraps until he talked to somebody about it. Now that I think about it, he seemed to lose interest in his discovery after that phone call."

"We're going to need to take his computer, is that all right?" Gibbs asked quietly.

"Yes, yes. Of course," she hesitated. "I will be getting it back, right? I'd love to take it to one of Milton's friends and see if he can to explain to me what my ex loved. I was always curious, he just didn't have the patience to explain it to me. That's another reason why we split." She spoke the last statement very coldly.

"Yes. You will be getting it back. You've been very helpful Mrs. Berle."

"Please," she smiled at Gibbs, "call me Christine."

"You've been very helpful Christine. Can you show us to his computer?"

* * *

At 2100, the team reconvened in the squad room. They surrounded the plasma which was displaying a blueprint of the warehouse.

"Ziva, in this building." Gibbs pointed to a warehouse with an unobstructed view of the area Tony had marked.

"I'll be here," he pointed to a similar warehouse across the street. "Tony, you will drive in at 2200 exactly. Ducky, you will be two streets back in the ambulance on standby, in case Palmer or Meena needs medical attention. McGee, with them."

McGee went to protest that someone needed to go with Tony but Gibbs cut him off and continued. "Tony will be fine. He's a capable agent and Ziva and I have his six. Abby's been working on a copy of Berle's file that will probably distract them long enough for the back-up agents" four other NCIS agents "to take them down. They'll be in the warehouses on the ground floor."

Gibbs turned to Tony. "Do not engage. Let them handle it. Our priority is Palmer and Meena."

"On it boss."

"Grab a vest. Everyone, especially you Tony. You'll be right in their scope."

"That supposed to make me feel better, boss?" Tony quipped as he pulled out his vest for the second time today. Tension was running high in the room. The plan hinged on the back-up team surrounding Kemps before he discovered the folder was a fake and before Kemps pulled a gun on Tony. Getting shot was _not_ what he needed today.

"How 'bout a helmet for Tony too?" Abby walked in with a file folder in hand, earning a half-grin from Gibbs. "Here's Miltie's faux file. It's one of my better pieces of work."

"I'm sure it's wonderful, Abs." Gibbs took the file, giving Abby a kiss on the cheek.

"You know what I've noticed about fishing? It never works out so well for the bait." Tony remarked as he strapped on his vest. "_National Treasure_. One of Nic Cage's better roles." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait a minute! Riley kinda reminds me of you, McGeek, except Riley's a lot less geeky."

Ziva stared at Tony in astonishment.

"What? My cousin and her niece were in town. They made me watch it. I really had no choice," Tony countered.

"Even _I've_ seen that movie. It was a wonderful tool for learning about American History while I was studying for the citizenship's exam. _I_ enjoyed it, but it doesn't seem to be _your_ typical cup of coffee."

Tony opened his mouth to correct her, but decided it wasn't worth it.

"Enough," Gibbs interrupted. "Any questions?" He looked around. "Good. Head out."

* * *

Tony found himself in a similar position to the night before, idling in the warehouse district with a file about Milton Berle for company. But there were a few marked differences: No Palmer, and Tony had come prepared with a comlink and earwig.

This was very _Déjà Vu_, though Tony hoped that his measures to save Palmer and Meena weren't going to change the situation for the worse. Thinking about the film though, that was a great role for Denzel…

While he waited, Tony contemplated the events of the last 24 hours. He was having a banner day: got beat-up, knocked out, injected with something, got Gibbs-slapped multiple times, and he'd lied to Gibbs. He was just having a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day. He saddened momentarily, for the book brought about memories of his mother and how she would read that very story over and over until six-year Tony fell asleep. He'd really loved that book at that point in his life, though he couldn't, for the life of him, explain why.

"You there boss?" Tony said into the wire.

"No, DiNozzo, I'm at home, sanding my boat."

Tony snickered and turned back to the wharf. A pair of brights flickered on from the dock. A car revved, heading straight for Tony's idling sedan. Tony threw his sedan into reverse, spinning the wheel at the same time, as the oncoming car swerved in the opposite direction. The car sped by Tony barely avoiding denting the sedan, crashing to a stop in an abandoned dumpster. Tony grabbed his gun from the glove box and jumped out of the car.

"DiNozzo! Get your ass back into the car! That's an order!" Tony heard over the comlink, along with some swearing and something about a diversion, but he had already reached the car, and flung open the driver's door. The back-up team surrounded the car from the other sides.

The man in the car was young, maybe in his late teens. The airbag had deployed and was covered in blood, probably from the man's nose. He was regaining consciousness as Tony and Agent Beckett pulled him from behind the wheel, forcing him against the car and patting him down.

The boy was fighting the agents with all his strength, crying "I didn't do it!" and motioning to the waterfront.

"Didn't do what?" Tony asked, cuffing the boy's hands behind his head.

"Kill those two people back there."

"You hear that boss?"

"Ya, DiNozzo, I did," Gibbs replied impatiently. "Take McClellan with you."

DiNozzo beckoned to McClellan and they headed toward the wharf. He heard Gibbs over the comlink telling Ducky to be prepared.

The warehouse district dead-ended in a walkway which backed up to the water. Tony paused before reaching the walkway, motioning that McClellan check the right, and Tony would clear the left. On the count of three they turned the corner.

Two counts of "clear" were heard.

Tony's flashlight illuminated Palmer and Meena leaning against the wall. "We have bodies."

Cautiously, he bent down next to Palmer, his fingers reaching for the carotid artery. Tony was silent, as he felt for a pulse.

"They're—"

* * *

_A cliff-hanger! Hate to read them, love to write them!_

_Thanks to all who answered my episode questions and/or reviewed my story. I really appreciate the time and effort._


	6. Chapter 6

Standard disclaimer. I would love to see a reverse Requiem in following seasons. I know its written a lot into FanFiction, but would love to see it in a real episode…Perhaps following an act of heroism from Tony DiNozzo….

_**A/N: **__Takes place while a certain FBI agent is the FBI/Homeland Security liaison, and also the agent who drew the short straw to deal with Gibbs for the CIA._

* * *

Cautiously, Tony bent down next to Palmer, his fingers reaching for the carotid artery. Tony was silent, as he felt for a pulse.

"They're alive…Get Ducky!" Tony checked Meena's pulse unnecessarily for he saw her chest rise and fall as she breathed. He noticed Palmer's sleeve was rolled up and there were small bruises forming around puncture wounds in his inner arm.

"He's been injected with something!" Tony called into the comlink, getting up as he heard footsteps approaching. His head jerked with whiplash as he was hit with a full-force Gibbs-slap.

"What the hell were you thinking, DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded, standing mere inches from Tony's face. "They could have had someone waiting to take you out as you got out of the car!"

Ziva quickly intervened. "I think the better question is how did the bodies get here? This area was clear earlier so how did they escape under the laser?"

"_Under the radar,_" McGee corrected, noticing Tony and Gibbs were otherwise occupied.

Gibbs was undeterred by Ziva's questions, waiting patiently for Tony's answer.

Tony stared right back at Gibbs, his look, that he had spent months perfecting while Gibbs was away, almost as withering as Gibbs' own. "I just reacted. Wasn't thinking…"

"Damn right, you weren't thinking! You're not invincible Tony. A double tap to the heart," Gibbs poked Tony twice in the chest over his heart, hard, "and you're as dead as Berle."

Tony began to defend himself, but Gibbs cut him off. "Go back to the office. Write it up. Wait for us to return."

Tony opened his mouth again but was met with a very angry, steely Gibbs-glare that made even Tony not want to protest.

"If looks could kill," Tony muttered, heading back to his car alone.

"McGee-evidence. Ziva-shoot."

"If I may say so, Jethro," Ducky approached Gibbs as Jimmy and Meena were being loaded into the ambulance, "you were a bit hard on young Anthony. He's been through a lot these past few days."

"How are they Duck?" Gibbs asked, ignoring Ducky's comments.

"Both are relatively uninjured, appearing to have been drugged. A non-lethal brand to be sure. This, in fact, reminds me of a case in Belgium—which can wait for another time," Ducky placated as Gibbs began tapping his foot impatiently. "Palmer appears to have been drugged for the last day, and who knows how long for Meena. They are being kept until they wake, then for overnight observation when that occurs. Outlook is very, very good. You know, this is very similar to the case you had in Paris many years ago, when you consulted me just after I'd graduated medical school—"

"Not the time Ducky," Gibbs walked away, unsettled by how easily he had let his anger of Tony's actions seep through his normally stoic front. He knew his anger was masking fear for his agent's, and his friend's, life. Tony took too many risks, sticking his neck out for too many people. But there was time for contemplation later.

"McGee!"

"Nothing. No trash, no note, nada. Zero. Zilch." Gibbs was quiet. "Well, I could look again…"

"No. Go to the hospital. Get Palmer and Brenna's statements when they wake up. Someone will relieve you at 1200." McGee left.

"Ziva."

"Photos taken. Found nothing McGee didn't. If I may say something—"

"You can't. Leave the other agents to dust for prints. Escort the suspect back to interrogation."

Gibbs walked away, his emotions back in check. He probably owed Tony an apology, even though it went against one of his cardinal rules, but between friends and in the field made for a different matter all together. He himself probably deserved a head slap. He knew deep down he'd have done the same thing. If Tony was trying to imitate him, he was doing a damn good job. Yet Tony had disobeyed a direct order…Gibbs decided to let Tony sweat it out for a bit, before remedying the situation in typical Gibbs-fashion.

Gibbs got behind the wheel as Ziva placed, none too carefully, their prisoner in the backseat and hopped in the passenger's seat.

Gibbs sped away, leaving black marks on the pavement. Ziva grabbed the armrest and began praying softly in Hebrew, bracing herself for a very short, very dangerous ride.

* * *

Fuming, Tony stormed into the squad room. He unholstered his gun, threw it into the desk drawer, and slammed the drawer shut.

"Something wrong, DiNutso?"

Surprised, Tony looked up to see a beardless Fornell sitting at Gibbs' desk. He got up and went over to Fornell.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've heard through the agency grapevine that a certain file was 'borrowed' by one Trent Kort, who is on the CIA 'watchlist'," Fornell said using air quotes.

"Well, as charmed as I am to see you, I have work to do." Tony walked back to his desk, pulling up a Word document to type up his report.

"Chase gone wrong?" Fornell asked after a moment, motioning to Tony's multi-colored cheekbone.

"Something like that," Tony continued typing.

"Nothing to do with the Berle file, right? 'Cause that's a top-secret dossier, highest clearance only. Above your pay grade."

Tony abruptly stopped working. "I'm sorry. Is there something I can help you with until Gibbs gets here? You know where the vending machines are, and Vance is upstairs if you want to chat with him. The elevators to the parking lot are still in the same place. Other than that, I've got work to do."

Fornell got up and walked to Tony's desk, bending down until he and Tony were almost face to face. "Trust me. You do _not_ want me going to Vance. But I'll get a snack. It's been a while since I've eaten. When you see Gibbs, tell him where I am."

As Fornell headed to the break room, Tony took the opportunity to call Berle's CO where he learned Berle had been seen "fraterninzing" with a "suspicious looking man", non-Marine, frequently before his death, first seen about six months prior. The meetings were never friendly. The stranger never left a name and looked "rather ordinary". The CO, after a while, "became curious, and did what any concerned officer would do", which translated to snapping a picture and running it through AFIS. No matches. When he expanded the search to civilians, he "hit it big". Kellan Durst who'd gone to American University with Berle. The CO did not investigate any further.

Just as Tony hung up, Gibbs and Ziva got off the elevator.

"How are Palmer and—" Tony asked, standing up to greet his colleagues.

"Sit." Gibbs commanded.

Tony sat back down, trying a second time to pump Gibbs for information. "How are Palmer and Meena?"

"Ziva?" Gibbs deferred.

"They are fine, Tony. Both are unconscious but stable. They are being taken to the hospital for further observation. Prognosis is very good for both of them," Ziva reported as she disarmed and sat at her desk.

"Gib—" Tony began.

"Ziva?" Gibbs cut Tony off once again. "Upload the photos and get a sit-rep from McGee. I'm going to see Abby."

Gibbs passed through the squad room to the back elevator. Tony ran after him, passing him and stopping in front of Gibbs.

"Look, Gibbs," he tried to block Gibbs' path. Gibbs finally stood still, foot tapping impatiently and occasionally glancing at his watch.

"I know I haven't been my usual self this case," Tony started.

"I've noticed."

"But it's because my instincts kicked in earlier when the car swerved, and even earlier when I didn't want the team involved for fear of them getting hurt. But I'm back in control now. Good ol' Anthony DiNozzo."

"Good," Gibbs said, finally sidestepping Tony and calling the elevator.

"Good? That's it? Actually, why am I surprised? That's about par." Tony paused as Gibbs stepped into the elevator.

"Fornell's looking for you," Tony added just before the elevator doors closed. Gibbs stuck his hand in the door, keeping it from closing.

"Well, you can tell him where to find me. And DiNozzo," Gibbs called, half-smiling as the elevator doors closed, "If you ever disobey a direct order again, I will stick my foot so far up your ass…"

* * *

McGee was lounging in the hospital waiting room when he was approached by a nurse.

"Are you with Jimmy Palmer and NCIS?" she asked kindly. McGee nodded.

"Mr. Palmer is awake. You may have five minutes with him. He's been asking for you," she added as she led McGee to Palmer's room.

Palmer looked surprisingly good for a guy who'd been forced to find a file in exchange for his kidnapped girlfriend, and drugged for a day. He looked distracted and kept fiddling with the IV of fluids in his left arm.

"How's Meena? Is she all right? Oh God! I hope so! Say something McGee!" Palmer practically assaulted McGee as he walked through the door.

"Palmer, she's fine. Still unconscious. The drugs have not quite worn off yet. She should be awake soon, and she's physically fine."

"Phew," Jimmy exhaled loudly and sank back into his sheets, visibly relaxed.

McGee took the chair by Palmer's bed. "What can you tell me Palmer? Anything?"

Palmer thought long and hard. "Yes! One guy said something about 'my brother' and 'revenge'. He doesn't think his brother's death was an accident!" He turned to McGee. "Was that helpful?"

"Well, if that was Kemps, his record doesn't show a brother," McGee mused. "Can you describe the guy?"

"I only saw him once when I brought Tony to the—Is Tony okay? They were pretty rough on him."

"Tony's fine. Just a few bruises. Is this the guy?" McGee help up Kemps' photo.

"Yep," Palmer said. "I got a good look at him as his goons dragged me to the car. I was going to get good details so I didn't have to go under hypnosis! That's never gonna happen again!"

McGee held up Castle's photo, the thug whose prints were on the car. "Him too?"

Palmer nodded. "When am I getting out of here?"

"Tomorrow. You're staying for overnight observation. Gibbs' orders."

"Okay then," Palmer conceded. "What do they have to eat in this place? I'm starved."

* * *

Gibbs walked into the break room to see Fornell munching a Nutter Butter. Fornell acknowledged Gibbs with a nod.

"Tobias. You shaved that dead animal off your face. Good for you. Now—what the hell are you doing here?"

"Like you don't know," Fornell said, touching his beardless face almost regretfully.

"I don't." Gibbs half-smiled.

"You mean to tell me you know nothing about one of your agents meeting Kort in the park this afternoon followed by Kort's stealing a highly-classified CIA file and giving it to said agent?"

"Nope."

"Gibbs," Fornell warned. "Don't jerk my chain. DiNutso's in a lot of trouble. You still got that file?"

"Not technically."

Fornell put his head in his hands. "Jethro. I came over to mediate after I heard what happened. CIA wants the file back and they won't press charges."

"They'll get it back. Eventually. Want to read me in?"

Fornell signed. "Berle was working top-secret ops, above even my paygrade. His death, though tragic, was ruled accidental by both NCIS and CIA."

"Why would someone want the file then?"

McGee entered at that very minute. "Boss, I," he turned to see Fornell. "Fornell," McGee acknowledged, continuing to wait for Gibbs' instructions to see if he should speak while Fornell was still there.

"Today, McGee?"

"Palmer remembers someone saying the death of Berle was not an accident. The man also referred to Berle as his brother. It must be Kemps. Kemps was hosted by the Berles for the exchange program and they must have been close, since they continued to stay in touch. If they were good friends, they'd be like brothers."

"That's good work McGee," Gibbs commented as he and Fornell walked away. Realizing they were walking alone, Gibbs turned to see McGee standing in the snack room smiling slightly.

"Well, come on!"

"Sorry boss!" McGee scrambled to catch up.

They walked into the squad room to find Tony staring at the large plasma.

"Hey Boss! McGee! Fornell. This is Kellan Darst, who was seen fighting with Berle before his death, according to his CO. Berle deployed shortly afterwards and died in combat. The CO never reported it, to not cast a shadow on Berle's record after death, since Berle died protecting his country and all."

"Was this investigated?" Gibbs turned to Fornell.

"Don't recall. But if it wasn't in the record, probably not. The CIA and NCIS were eager to close the case. He was up for one of your silly medals…"

"Don't go there Tobias," Gibbs warned.

"ANYway," Tony interrupted, "Darst lives in Baltimore, CEO of Darthmore Industries. It's a computer plant that makes something called a hexa-core processor and a bunch of other geeky stuff. McGeek would know more about it."

"They are developing a octa-core processor which would revolutionize the—" McGee stopped at Gibbs' glare. "Never mind."

"We've got an interview at 9:00 tomorrow."

"Well, that's all for tonight. Go home. Get some rest. Be here at 0700. Let Abby and Ducky know. DiNozzo, relieve—"

"Ziva at 0200. On it boss."

* * *

Ziva was sitting beside Meena's bed when Meena finally stirred. She began to thrash wildly, clearly disoriented.

"Meena. Meena." Ziva called, holding Meena by the shoulders. "My name is Ziva. I'm with NCIS. I work with Jimmy remember?"

Meena calmed down at the mention of Palmer's name, opening her eyes to stare at Ziva, quickly realizing she was in a hospital.

"Where's James?" she asked weakly.

"He's safe. He's in the adjoining room." Meena looked very relieved to hear this."

"Meena, I have a few questions to ask you. Do you think you can answer them for me?"

"I'll do anything to help you catch that bastard!" she said vehemently.

"Good. Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Meena told Ziva the same story she'd told Palmer.

Ziva showed her the photo of Kemps. "Was this the guy?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

"And him?" Ziva showed her the picture of Castle.

"That's one of the guys who grabbed me from my hotel room."

"Can you describe the other?"

"He was as tall and as heavy as the other guy, long blond hair. Blue eyes. I think he had some type of liver disease—he was sort of jaundice."

"That might help us narrow it down," Ziva said, taking note of Meena's description. "Now get some sleep. Maybe you and Palmer can be moved into the same room in the morning."

As soon as Meena fell asleep, Ziva went outside to phone Gibbs.

"Tony will relieve you at 0200. Meet back at the office at 0700. We have an appointment with Darthmore Industries, owned by Kellan Darst, who was seen arguing with Berle before he deployed."

"I will be there bright-eyed and pigtailed."

* * *

_An actionless chapter to be sure, but it covered important ground for later chapters. Don't worry. There is maybe one other chapter like this one, and lots more action to come!_

_For the large amount of people who have read this, there are very few reviews. A few more would be nice… Thanks for your time! _


	7. Chapter 7

Standard disclaimer. But, writers, take note. I'd love to see Tony's dad again. Maybe not next season, but once more before the show ends. Maybe Tony's dad gets into some trouble because of his con-man ways and has to, very reluctantly, call Tony for some help. Some flashback scenes in this one would be nice too.

* * *

The car-driving suspect was sitting in interrogation. He had been for over half an hour. Gibbs and Fornell were standing in observation, watching the suspect. The suspect, who was not carrying any form of ID but couldn't have been anymore than 19, was containing himself, just barely. He was tapping his feet, drumming his fingers on the table and switching positions every few seconds.

After ten more minutes, Gibbs and Fornell finally entered interrogation.

The suspect immediately jumped up.

"I didn't do it, man! I swear!"

"Sit down," Gibbs commanded, taking the seat across from the boy, while Fornell hovered in the boy's blind spot.

The boy immediately obeyed.

"Why don't we start with the basics? What's your name?"

"Henry Jones."

"Well Henry Jones, what were you doing at my crime scene?"

"Some dude paid me 50 big ones to park at the warehouse at like 9:00 and sit with my headlights off. Then, at 10:00 when I saw the other car, I was supposed to drive away."

"What went wrong?" Gibbs asked, since Jones had crashed, and known about the bodies, which he had failed to mention so far.

"I got bored, was goin' batty. I got out of the car and walked around, at like 9:45. Who knew I was going to see those bodies right there. I freaked, man. I got in the car and took off. Then I saw that other car right in my path, I swerved. Wasn't supposed to hit the dumpster, that was my bad."

"And you didn't see anything wrong with this?" Fornell finally spoke up.

"Hey, man," Jones said, turning to face Fornell, "you know how hard it is to make a buck around here? 50 for just driving a car straight? Hey! Anyday!"

Gibbs pulled Kemps' picture out of the folder. "Was this the guy?"

"Nope."

Gibbs pulled out Castle's picture. "Him?"

"Yep. Always remember the face of the guy who pays you."

"Where were you at 2200 two nights ago?"

"What's that? Like 10:00?" Gibbs nodded.

"I was at work. I work at the local Alfredo's on 172nd St. I signed in at 5:00 and signed out at 12:00. I was there the whole time, ask Hank, my supervisor."

"Don't worry. I will."

With that, Gibbs and Fornell left the room.

"You believe him?" Fornell asked.

"Ya. Didn't show any of the usual signs of lying."

"Ya. Me too."

"You know what that means?"

"We're fresh out of suspects..."

* * *

Darthmore Industries was an enormous building in central Washington D.C. Gibbs, DiNozzo, Ziva and McGee were immediately escorted to the penthouse, where CEO Kellan Darst worked.

They sat in the waiting room, which was the size of the third floor of NCIS. The desk and tables were solid glass, the arched doors were made of frosted glass, the chairs probably cost more than Tony made in a year, and the wood flooring, well, it probably worth a pretty penny. And that's not mentioning the very, very expensive decorations.

They were waiting for over twenty minutes. Finally, Tony had had enough.

He walked up to the very pretty receptionist and flashed his most winning grin.

"Hi. I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. My colleagues and I have been waiting for almost half an hour to speak to Mr. Darst."

"Mr. Darst is a very busy man. He'll get to you when he has a free moment."

"Maybe you can help me then. Have you seen this guy?" Tony questioned, holding out Berle's picture.

"Yes, that's Mr. Berle, our consultant."

Tony did a double take. "Wait, he works here?"

Gibbs heard the second part of the interview, and immediately got up, coming over the massive receptionist desk.

"Yes. Mr. Berle worked exclusively for Mr. Darst. Mr. Darst would call Mr. Berle when he was unsure about the reliability of a new product. It was off-the-books and Mr. Berle received unlimited access to Mr. Darst's resources for his own projects."

"What was Mr. Berle working on?"

"I wasn't privy to that information. But I did hear through the office grapevine that it would revolutionize the computer as we know it. Mr. Darst could tell you more. Speaking of which, here he is."

Kellan Darst walked out of his office. Walked wasn't really an appropriate word. Glided was actually a better term. This guy had money, knew it, and worked it for all it was worth. He welcomed Team Gibbs into his office. He sat behind a completely glass desk, with a view of the entire downtown D.C., Lincoln Memorial, Reflecting Pool, and the Capitol Building.

"What can I help you with, Agents?"

"What was your relationship with Mr. Milton Berle?" Gibbs began bluntly.

Mr. Darst straightened up and put his entwined hands on the desk. "It was a personal one. One I do not wish to discuss."

"That is not an option. Berle is dead," Gibbs continued.

"Milton's dead?" Darst looked surprised, but not enough to convince Ziva.

"You do not look surprised," Ziva stated.

"Well, really I'm not. Berle was a very suspicious person. He thought I was having an affair with his wife. That's why he confronted me just before he deployed. I reassured him that we weren't having an affair, along with giving him an alibi for when he was deployed previously to pacify his mind. I was consulting for a friend's business in Los Angeles during the entire deployment. I'm seen on multiple cameras, in case you were wondering."

"That may be what you told Berle to 'pacify him', but were you really having an affair?" McGee questioned.

"No, absolutely not. Milton was almost family."

"The receptionist said Berle was a consultant for this company," Gibbs stated.

"Milton was a computer genius, but not many people knew about it. It was a real hobby of his. I consulted him about projects that inventors brought me, and Berle determined their workability. The man was a genius. In return, he had unlimited access to any resources within the company for his side projects and my personal vacation spots in the Virgin Islands, Spain, Paris and South Beach." Darst said, confirming the receptionist's story.

"What was Berle working on when he was killed?" Tony asked.

"I have no idea. He wasn't open about these projects until he had them fully operational. That was just the way Milton worked."

"Thank you for your time," Gibbs said, standing up to leave. "If you remember anything else, please call," he handed Darst a business card.

"Don't worry Agents. I will," Darst half-grinned, escorting his guests to the door.

* * *

"Tony, you drive," Gibbs said as they left the office, tossing DiNozzo the keys.

"Sure, Boss, but why?"

"So I can think. Unless you want me to-" Gibbs began, getting into the passenger's seat.

"Nope, Boss. You think. I drive. We all get home safely. Sounds like a grand idea." While Tony started the car, Gibbs pulled out his phone and dialed Abby.

"You've reached the lab of Abby Scuito, resident computer genius and forensics extraordinaire."

"Abby, I need you to run a full work-up on Kellan Darst. Financials, phone records, the works. McGee will be down there in ten to help you."

"Sure, Bossman. How'd it go with—" Gibbs hung up. McGee was working furiously on his laptop in the backseat, contributing to Abby's search.

There was silence in the car for a minute.

"Okay. I will state the obvious," Tony began, "Why are we running Darst? He seemed pretty open."

"That's exactly why. Not many people have alibis prepared. It's almost as if he knew we were coming. He didn't even ask the dates, before giving us his alibi. He's hiding something," Ziva answered. All inch of her was screaming that Darst was lying. He was too upforth...no, upcoming...no, those weren't the right words. Ziva gave up on deciphering which the English language and moved on, using words she knew. Darst was too open, too candid, didn't think before answering questions, and didn't look away to consider the date or the correct answer. It was highly rehearsed speech. These actions had set off every one of her Mossad sensors. Now, it came down to this: what was Darst lying about?

Gibbs' phone rang.

"You got something already, Abs?"

"Gibbs! This is good. I took what Meena said about one bad guy having a liver problem and added that to the search criteria under medical. That narrowed down the search and we got another hit. Henry Spencer. Age 52. Worked for Santa Barbara PD before retiring and moving out here last year. His prints were found all over Palmer's car. Has Wilson's disease and is on the liver transplant list. Poor guy, but he kidnapped Jimmy and Meena, so I'm not showing him any sympathy, though it's going to be hard. I had an aunt who needed a liver transplant—"

"Anything else Abs?" Gibbs asked as Tony pulled into the NCIS lot.

"Well, cell phone records aren't really my thing, but Spencer's phone is currently on and in the same vicitinity as Castle's." She paused, her excitement radiating through the phone.

"The address Abby?"

"72nd block of B Street. In a house registered to Mark Sheridan. He's been arrested a few times: shoplifting, drug possession—whittled that one down to one year in juvi, aggravated assault..."

"Stop the car." Gibbs ordered. Tony immediately put the car in park, giving Gibbs a questioning stare.

"I'm driving."

* * *

"Gibbs. We got something! Well, I have something," McGee called from the backseat, about ten minutes into the drive. "I ran Darst's financials. Pretty standard, but one abnormality. He made three sizable payments to an off-shore banking account, all upwards of 10 grand. No name on the account, just a random ID number. Hacked into the server, and ran the transactions and found the owner. One William Turner, who—"

"Wait a minute! William Turner!" Tony interjected excitedly from the front seat.

"You know him?" Ziva asked incrediously.

"Yeah, Zee-vah! He's a master blacksmith, who befriends a known pirate and turns rogue to rescue his girlfriend!"

"Was he ever arrested?"

Tony turned around. "Really, Ziva? How have you not seen _Pirates of the Carribean_? It's, like, a classic of the 21st century. If McGee had said that, I wouldn't be surprised. But _you_, you who have seen _National Treasure_…"

"There a point to this conversation?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Will Turner is a known bomb-maker who lives in Paris. He has been suspected of multiple bombings all throughout Europe, but has never been arrested. He must have a very, very good lawyer. Ran his travel records. Nothing for Will Turner. But there is one for a known alias: Weatherby Swan," McGee continued, glaring slightly at Tony for interrupting.

"Really? As if Will Turner wasn't enough," Tony commented.

"What? Another movie character?" Ziva inquired.

"Same movie. Weatherby must be Elizabeth's father," McGee answered, earning a look of surprise from Tony.

"Very good, McTrivia. I'm so proud of you. All these years and I'm finally rubbing off on you," Tony complimented from the front seat.

"Don't think that's such a good thing," Gibbs said, pulling the car onto Sheridan's street. "What's so special about 'im, McGee?"

"Turner alias Swan was in Iraq the week of Berle's murder," McGee finished as the NCIS sedan pulled up in front of Sheridan's house.

"So what? You're telling me is Darst paid to have Berle killed?" Gibbs clarified as he parked the car. "Why?"

"Maybe Berle's new project was so innovative, Darst didn't want to share," McGee ventured.

"So he hires a Turner to take out Berle, so Darst can market the product by himself and take full credit for its discovery," Ziva added.

"But Kemps, the long-time friend, who must have had some knowledge of Berle's hobby, found the circumstances suspicious and kidnapped Meena to have Jimmy steal the file related to his 'brother's' death," Tony finished as the team got out of the car.

Sheridan's house was very small, in the middle of the block, one door in the front surrounded by two windows, with one window on each side of the house. The team went in high alert when they saw the broken front window, and the slightly ajar front door.

"Tony and Ziva, you take the back. McGee, you're with me. Enter in two minutes," Gibbs ordered.

Tony and Ziva crept around the house, their backs to the wall, guns drawn and ready. The back of the house had a porch with two windows surrounding a door. Ziva stopped under a window and craned her neck to peek into the house.

"Whaddya see, Ziva?" Tony whispered.

"We've got a major problem."

* * *

_I have another random scene stuck in my mind. It's the one where Tony is being Tony, and Gibbs is out of range for a Gibbs-slap, so he crumbles up some paper and hits Tony in the back of the head with it. Please let me know which episode this is!_

_Bonus points to whoever can figure out what movies or TV shows inspired my characters. Extra bonus points if you know what movies Mark Sheridan or Henry Jones are from (two separate films)._

_Thanks to all my readers and reviewers! :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Instead of my normally witty disclaimer, I will treat you to NCIS trivia: The origin of the headslap: Mark Harmon was acting in a scene and Michael Weatherly (Happy Late Birthday!) was standing off camera flirting with the props girl. He "felt a sharp pain and a bit of whiplash". He turned around to see Harmon standing behind him. "Not while we're filming," Harmon said. The producers liked it so much they added in permanently into the scripts and the Gibbs-slap was born! :)

* * *

"Call an ambulance," Ziva whispered to Tony.

As Tony did so, Ziva took another look into the house. It was a small house with one main room, which was no doubt intended for hosting parties. What it hosted today though was more funeral-like, judging by the five bodies. Ziva recognized Castle and Spencer as the two lying on the couch. Each had been shot once in the chest. There were two other men, one of whom was Sheridan, lying on the floor by the front door, guns in their hands, appearing to have made a stand before they were gunned down. The fifth was by the back door, no weapon in hand, apparently trying to outrun the shooter.

The two minutes were up. Tony kicked down the back door, entering with Ziva and clearing the two side rooms, while Gibbs and McGee entered through the front. After the whole house was cleared, Tony bent down beside the man closest to the back door. He could find no pulse.

"Castle's alive. So is Spencer. Just barely," Ziva called from the couch.

"Sheridan's alive, and the other is gone," McGee reported from the front door.

"Where is the ambulance?" Gibbs called, grabbing towels from the nearby bathroom to hold over the wounds.

"On its way. No sign of Kemps. This must be Darst's work. Tying up all the loose ends," Tony commented.

The team worked to keep the victims alive. Relief was tangible as sirens became louder and louder. The paramedics burst in and began taking over, ordering IV antibiotics and painkillers.

After the paramedics left and Ducky was called, McGee and Ziva began bagging and tagging, with Tony shooting crime scene photos. There were bullet casings appeared to all be the same, but from the footprints in the rug, there was at least two shooters.

To Gibbs' knowledge, extensive as it was, the men must have been relaxing. The shooter(s) took out Castle and Spencer through the window. The other three, alerted to the threat, tried to alter the situation. Sheridan and his partner tried to defend themselves, while the other thug ran for safety. The shooter(s) entered, taking out Sheridan, his partner and finally the escapee. The shooter(s) were clearly not professionals, otherwise Castle and Spencer would have been dead. The refraction of the bullet through the glass had saved their lives.

Ducky estimated the time of death to be around half an hour ago, meaning the surviving members were quickly running out of time.

"It's a miracle you came by when you did, or I'd have five corpses on my tables instead of two, and without Mr. Palmer's assistance, it would have taken me many hours to complete all five autopsies. That actually reminds me of the time—" Ducky monologued, at which point Gibbs stopped listening.

Once the crime scene cordoned off, brass collected, and evidence marked, Team Gibbs headed back to NCIS.

Gibbs sent McGee to give Abby the forensic evidence and to assist her in any way possible. He sent Tony and Ziva to work on the identities of the dead victims. Gibbs himself called Vance for agents to guard Castle, Sheridan and Spencer's hospital rooms until they woke and could give statements, assuming they lived.

They reconvened in the squad room, where Tony and Ziva had discovered the identities of the dead victims.

"Mark Roberts and William Chase. Both known criminals, did time for petty theft, construction workers for the Naval Base school systems. According to Kemps' financial records, Kemps had paid all five workers $5,000 the day before Meena went missing," Tony summarized.

"Other than that, neither is tied directly to Kemps or Berle. Or Darst, for that matter. They appear to be your typical thugs for hire," Ziva added as Gibbs' phone rang.

"Gibbs! This is really good. How soon can you come down here?" Abby bubbled.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

"Gibbs. This Berle was AMAZING! And I mean AMAZING! This stuff he was working on is absolutely unbelievable. His computer contained designs for an octa-core processor. You may not know what that means, but it's absolutely incredibly fast computer. For comparison, most computers now are a dual-core…Anyway, this design would be worth millions to a computer company."

"Like Darthmore Industries," Tony nodded his head in understanding.

"Yep. According to Berle's cell phone records, he called a burn phone—whose GPS showed it was in Darst's office—before Berle deployed. The call lasted five minutes, an hour before the CO saw them meet. Berle was also given an e-mail address from Darthmore, which he used to communicate his thoughts on potential designs. We found it when searching Darst's e-mail. Berle had e-mailed Darst some of his own designs. According to Darst's financials, he paid a small amount, $250—which is like nothing these days, to have someone else authenticate the designs. This is the real deal, Gibbs. This baby was worth a lot."

"So that's why Darst had Berle killed," McGee clarified, "Even though we suspected that earlier, now we have proof. He wanted to make the millions by himself and not have to split them with Berle."

"But how did Kemps know about Darst?" Ziva asked.

"There are a series of phone calls from Berle's cell to a private number, which we only just found out was Kemps. We can assume he told his friend everything. And if you're not in the assuming mood, you can read the e-mails from Berle's super-secret work e-mail, which detailed some of his plans. He sent them to Kemps for advice on presentation and the works. Apparently our computer genius wasn't much of a public speaker. Darst's private firewall has been hacked recently, and the IP address traces back to an internet café. This café was frequented by Kemps according to his credit card receipts," McGee answered

"How did he know about Jimmy and Meena, oh great McOz?" Tony questioned.

"That I'm not sure about Tony, but I am fairly certain Palmer shot off his mouth about his privileges as employee of NCIS. Kemps may have been watching NCIS, looking for an 'in'. In fact, wasn't the day Meena disappeared the day after she came to visit Jimmy?"

"Now that you mention it, I believe you are correct," Ziva remarked thoughfully.

"What kind of car did Kemps drive?" Gibbs asked. Tony and Ziva began madly flipping through files, while McGee typed frantically on the computer.

"It's a 1999 Land Rover, red," Abby answered, after letting her teammates sweat for a moment. "And it drove by at exactly 5:30, which is 1730 your time, Gibbs. According to the video," she pulled said footage up on the plasma, "he saw Palmer and Meena leave in the same car… after a short make-out session."

"Now, on to the evidence from the shooting," Abby turned away from the computers, and headed to her lab table, "Most of this stuff was pretty regular. There were five shells, and five bullet holes according to your reports. That's pretty good shooting, considering two shots were through glass—they did hit the targets, but were non-lethal. Three of the shells are from one Wilson .45 Combat, the other two from a Glock. Now, here's the good stuff. The phone registered to Kellan Darst was at the crime scene next to Sheridan's body. Sheridan was the only one without a cell phone at the scene which is unusual these days. Except," she bounced over to her computer and typed madly for a moment, "he is paying a cell phone bill. His cell phone's still on. According to the GPS, it's in the same location as Kemps' cell phone."

"That's good work Abby," Gibbs turned to head out the door.

"Wait! I'm not done yet! Kemps sent a text message to Darst about two and a half hours ago, telling Darst to meet him at the J*Mart packing plant in Eastern D.C. Kemps said he had information about Darst's 'arrangements'—his words not mine. I'd've said 'scheme' or 'conspiracy', they're so much stronger words—as Kemps put it, and was willing to sell it back. Kemps' credit card record shows he purchased a wire at a local spy store. I think he's going to tape Darst's confession and turn it into you…probably after killing Darst and making it look like self-defense—those MI5 guys are good at that you know. I once dated a guy—"

"Where's the warehouse Abby?" Gibbs questioned, interrupting her rant about an old boyfriend. She rattled off the address.

"Gibbs! There's more, though you can leave if you want. You'll be back eventually," she waited. Seeing he wasn't leaving, she continued, "After Kemps' call to Darst, Darst made another call to a Mark Rhamsey," Abby pulled up his picture on the plasma, "who is a registered Wilson .45 Combat owner. He was suspected in an armed robbery of a Marine home a few years ago, so we have his bullets on file. They're a match to the three shells at the crime scene. His known associate was thought to be Jacob Cameron, who…" she paused, waiting for someone to guess.

"Is the registered owner of a Glock?" Tony guessed.

"Give the man a stuffed bear!" Abby celebrated, pulling up Cameron's photo as well.

"Why would Tony want a stuffed bear? Isn't that a children's toy here in America?" Ziva looked slightly confused until McGee explained the origin of the saying to her.

"The warehouse is about a fifteen minute drive from here," McGee said, plugging the packing plant's address into his iPhone's GPS.

Gibbs walked back into the lab and gave Abby a kiss on the cheek. "That's really good work Abs."

"What? No Caf-Pow?" Abby asked, a sad puppy-dog expression on her face.

"Check your desk," Gibbs replied mysteriously, as they left.

Abby peeked around the bank of computers to find a Caf-Pow! sitting by her personal computer.

"One of these days, I'm going to figure out how you do that, Gibbs," she promised, her face taking on a very determined expression.

* * *

_Short chapter, but we've reached the climax of the story. Either these two were going to be combined into a super-long chapter or they'd be split up. I decided it'd be better to split them up. Don't worry. The next chapter will be posted tomorrow!_

_Thanks to all who reviewed! But seriously, NONE of you know what movies Mark Sheridan and Henry Jones are from? And you call yourselves avid NCIS fans._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Newsflash**_: I OWN NCIS! The right for NCIS were on Ebay last night. I managed to beat Shane Brennan in a vicious bidding war for the executive producer's rights. Therefore, it is now up to me to decide what the episodes will consist of….Yeah, keep dreaming right? Anyway, here's the next chapter.

Cheat sheet:** Joseph Kemps**-Milton Berle's best friend.** Milton Berle**-dead Marine. **Kellan Darst**-killed Berle for computer innovation. **Castle, Sheridan, Spencer, Roberts **and **Chase**-Kemps' hired men. **Rhamsey** and **Cameron**-Darst's hired guns, killed Roberts and Chase.

* * *

"Are you sure he's still here McGee?" Tony questioned McGee as Team Gibbs hurtled toward the Darst's GPS location via Sheridan's cell phone.

"Tony, he hasn't moved in ten minutes." McGee answered impatiently.

The sedan screeched to a stop one block away from a loading dock, and the NCIS agents piled out. Gibbs silently motioned for Tony and McGee to head right and he and Ziva left. Guns drawn, Tony and McGee crept close to the building, stopping only to peer into the windows. At the end of the building, Tony looked in to see Darst and Kemps holding each other at gun point. The warehouse was lit by a few single bulbs positioned mainly at this corner of the massive warehouse. It was partitioned by boxes and a crane could be seen in the shadows.

"Boss," Tony whispered, barely audible. "Darst and Kemps are here, holding each other at gun point. Should we go in?"

"No," Gibbs' reply came. "Wait for us."

"Boss, my gut's telling me this is going to go bad. Fast. We need to move now."

McGee was surprised that Tony was butting heads with Gibbs on this matter.

The comlink was silent, before Gibbs finally replied "Go. DiNozzo, you're in charge."

Tony nodded to McGee and they burst into the warehouse, yelling "Federal Agents. Drop your weapons."

Neither man did.

While Tony covered Darst, McGee turned to Kemps. "You're not a criminal Kemps. We know that Darst paid to have Berle killed so he could patent the octa-core processor Berle had created and reap full profits. We also know you haven't killed anyone yet. If you put down your gun, I'm sure we can convince the jury to go easy on you."

"The same might go for you too Darst. Oh, waaaaaait! You've already ordered the murders of six people, only succeeded on three though. Between you and me," he told Darst, lowering his voice slightly as if it were a secret, "you might hire better hit men next time." He returned to his regular volume so McGee and Kemps could hear the rest of his summation. "You've also lied to Federal Agents, and paid a known bombmaker, and had someone killed overseas, making it the CIA's jurisdiction, and, trust me, they are not as kind and friendly as we are. Mazel tov on your life sentence. Shall we play Double Jeopardy and make it two?" Tony asked sarcastically.

"I really don't know what you're talking about. But I will put down my weapon only if this man puts his down at the same time," Darst decided.

With heavy sighs, both suspects put on the safeties and dropped the guns on the floor. Tony and McGee kicked them away. Tony nodded to McGee, signaling he'd cover the men while McGee cuffed Kemps, and vice versa. McGee holstered his gun and began reading Kemps his rights, while taking out his cuffs.

Tony backed up slightly to keep everyone in his sights, when the door crashed open and Tony was tackled from the side. His gun went flying as he hit the floor hard, trying to fight off his attacker.

McGee went for his gun again, but Darst was faster. When Darst heard the noise, he threw himself across the floor at his gun, rolled and came up with his weapon pointed at McGee and Kemps. He motioned with his gun and McGee dropped his weapon, kicking it away.

Tony was pinned underneath his attacker, who he'd managed to identify as Jacob Cameron. His attacker had Tony by the neck and had already punched Tony in the mouth. When the man drew back for another punch, Tony saw his chance, cupping his hands and boxing Cameron's ears. Cameron momentarily let go of Tony, his hands going to his ears. Tony punched him hard in the jaw, throwing his attacker off of him, and diving at his gun, which was a few feet out of reach.

Pain shot through his leg as he pushed himself away from Cameron. He must have smacked his knee pretty hard on the pavement as he'd fallen. It pretty much gave out with Tony no where close to his sidearm.

Still he was going to try for his weapon. He reached for the gun when he felt something cold and hard in his neck. Tony froze.

"That's a good boy," he heard Darst say. "Stand up. But do not try anything or I will have Jacob shoot your friends."

Tony painfully pushed himself to his feet, keeping his weight off his injured leg. Darst prodded Tony in the back with the gun, forcing him to limp back to the small circle lit by a single light bulb where McGee and Kemps were standing. They were covered by Cameron, who, rubbing his sore jaw, had grabbed Tony's gun and trained it on them while Tony was getting up.

With Darst still standing behind Tony, he called out to McGee and Kemps, "Cuff yourselves together. Trail the chain of the cuffs through the handrail of the crane." McGee hesitated slightly, cuffs in hands.

"Do it!" Darst cried, lifting his leg and stomping on the back of Tony's injured knee. The knee bucked and Tony fell, catching himself before he face-planted.

McGee was shocked into action, cuffing himself to Kemps as ordered. Jacob searched McGee and Kemps, coming up with an ankle holster and knife from the ex-MI5 agent.

Darst paused, hearing a noise. He immediately grabbed Tony by the collar of his Italian suit, pulled Tony in front of him like a human shield. Darst held the gun to Tony's head, and backed up until he was sandwiched between the boxes and Tony.

"I got your man!" Darst cried. Tony rolled his eyes, thinking of the end of _The Fugitive_. Couldn't the bad guys come up with any original lines… "Come out now—unarmed—and I won't shoot him."

A few seconds past before Gibbs and Ziva stepped into the light from behind another row of boxes. Their guns were dangling loosely from their index fingers, their hands in the air. Jacob grabbed their guns, emptying the magazines and putting both empty guns in his waistband.

"Now," Darst still spoke from behind Tony. "We're leaving with him," he jabbed the gun hard into Tony's head. "If we are not followed, we will dump your agent, unharmed. If we are followed, he dies."

"Let's go," he prodded Tony forward. Jacob moved behind Darst to cover the NCIS agents. Tony looked at Gibbs expectantly. Gibbs nodded slightly. Barely moving his head, Tony turned his gaze to Ziva, her eyes telling him she was ready for whatever he had planned.

Before they reached the door, Tony stomped on Darst's instep, simultaneously elbowing Darst in the gut. While Darst doubled over, Tony grabbed Darst's gun hand, and twisted out of his hold. He had wrapped his hand around Darst's and pointed the gun back toward Jacob.

Unfortunately, Darst recovered in time to once again stomp on the back of Tony's knee. Tony fought to remain standing, but Darst had thrown off his aim, sending the round aimed at Jacob through the ceiling. Tony couldn't keep his balance, especially with Darst pulling on him.

As both Tony and Darst hit the ground, the gun went flying from their loosened grasp. As Jacob bent down to pick up the gun, he made the mistake of taking his eye off Ziva. A few-well placed Mossad moves and Jacob was unconscious. Ziva picked up the guns, keeping one trained on a fallen Jacob. She made eye contact with Gibbs and tossed him the other one.

Meanwhile, Tony was once again pinned under an assailant. Darst had all of Tony's limbs pinned and was hitting him in the face and nose. In a desperate act, Tony threw all his weight to one side, finally managing to knock off Darst. Tony, now on top, proceeded to hit Darst a few times in the face before being kneed in the gut. He bent slightly, breathing hard, but managed to keep Darst pinned down.

"That's enough DiNozzo," Gibbs spoke, training his gun on Darst, as Tony raised a fist to hit him again. He had had his gun trained on the two of them for a while, but decided to let Tony give a few of what he had taken. "We need him to be able to confess."

"This's true, boss," Tony contemplated hitting Darst one more time, before getting to his feet unsteadily, almost toppling over as he forgot about his injured knee.

Gibbs grabbed Tony's flailing arm, steadying him.

"Thank you boss." Tony managed to find his balance, still favoring his right leg.

Gibbs gave Tony back his gun, inspecting the damage. Tony was bleeding from a cut above his eye, profusely from his nose, and slightly from the corner of his mouth, all of which complimented the old bruising and split lip. Gibbs watched as Tony wiped the blood off his face with his suit sleeve, noticing the determined look in his Agent's eye before decided DiNozzo was fine. "You watch him while I free McGee and Kemps. Ziva, call for a prison transport for two."

"On it Gibbs," she called.

Gibbs turned back to McGee and Kemps who were now free: Kemps grinning wildly, holding a small piece of metal in his hand.

"McGee. Cuff him," Gibbs called despite Kemps' wild protests.

"You still kidnapped two people, assaulted a Federal Officer, and really pissed me off." Gibbs told him, effectively ending any argument. "Though if you cooperate, we'll have a word with the DA to whittle down your time."

Kemps was silent for a moment. "He killed my brother so he couldn't have to split profits of the new octa-core thingamajiggy. He hired a man to plant a bomb in his vehicle and make it look like an IED that made it aboard. Berle was more that just a friend. His family took care of me when I was an exchange student and they have always been what I consider my true family." His eyes took on a pleasing look. "I just did what I had to do. Surely you understand that."

"I do," Gibbs said as sirens rang out and the prison vehicles arrived, "But it's still a crime."

* * *

Tony limped into the squad room a few hours later, after being checked out by the emergency room. Gibbs followed not too far behind, ready to offer a helping hand if needed. Tony's knee was in an elastic sleeve, and he sported a butterfly bandage above his eyebrow. He looked much better than in the warehouse, but still a far cry from what Anthony DiNozzo considered normal. He still looked pretty run-over, as Ziva would say.

Ziva and McGee turned from their computers as they heard the elevator ding.

"Tony! Are you okay?" Ziva asked as Tony finessed his way behind his desk, and gently lowered himself into his chair without bending his knee.

"Yes, Zee-vah. I am. According to a Doctor Casanova, I am as good as new," he said with a grin.

"You failed to mention the part where he said you were exhausted and needed time off," Gibbs recalled, heading over to his desk.

"Yeah, Boss. But like that's ever gonna happen. I have a better chance of winning the lottery than you giving me time off."

Ducky entered the squad room, devoid of his typical scrubs. "According to Jethro, Doctor Casanova also recommended crutches or a cane for the next few days. When you've sprained your posterior cruciate ligament and badly contused your patellar bursa, assistance walking is usually a wise choice."

"Thank you Ducky," Tony remarked sarcastically, "Is there anything else you would like to tell McGee and Ziva before they ask?"

"There's nothing wrong with using crutches Tony," McGee said, "I had to use them once when I was protecting a classmate at MIT from muggers, who threw me down some stairs while escaping."

Tony raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "That what really happened?"

McGee tried to keep his face neutral. "You are lying McGee," Ziva affirmed, "It would be best if you just told us the truth."

"What really happened, McHero? You fall down those stairs 'cause your nose was buried in the _Fouth Dimension of blah, blah, blah_…" Tony challenged.

McGee went with the truth. "I was thrown by a girl in my FLETC assault training classes. Multiple times. Once into a corner of boxes and other sharp materials." Tony and Ziva burst into laughter.

"Did you get this girl's number, McScapegoat?"

"Yep. And she was so—"

"That's enough. My ears are bleeding," Tony cried, covering his ears, a faux look of pain crossing his features.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Anthony?" Ducky came over to Tony's desk.

"Yes, Ducky. I am meeting Palmer and Meena for dinner at 7:30. They were released from the hospital this morning, and they want to show me their sincere appreciation for all I did for them. And that's an exact quote from Palmer by the way."

"Shouldn't you get going?" Ducky ventured, "Surely, you don't want to be attending supper looking like…like this?"

"Are you insinuating something?" Tony's eyes narrowed.

"No, Anthony. I am just familiar with the high standard of dressing to which you are accustomed."

"Thank you Ducky for recognizing my impeccable taste in fashion," Tony conceded. "You're forgiven."

"Ducky's right though. You should get going," McGee echoed. "Traffic this time is a nightmare."

"Is this a hint? Do you all want me gone? Fine. I'm gone. Hasta la vista. No more Anthony DiNozzo. Sayonara. Nothing like 'don't let the door hit you on the way out'," Tony huffed, grabbing his gear and getting to his feet.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs called as Tony limped over to the elevator. "If you don't want to find a new job, don't show up to work until Monday."

Tony turned around, a surprised look in his eye, to see his boss standing at his desk, an honest look in Gibbs' eye. "Boss, you know it's Thursday night, right?"

"Go, before I change my mind. But DiNozzo," Gibbs cautioned, "If you are not here at 0700 exactly, you will be job-hunting faster than you thought possible. Sober would be nice," he added jokingly as Tony got into the elevator.

"That hurts Gibbs," Tony clutched at his heart dramatically, a wounded expression on his face. "How many years have you known me?"

"Long enough to be concerned about long weekends," Gibbs shouted, seeing Tony grin before the elevator doors closed fully.

Gibbs turned back to the remaining members of his team. "What are you doing here? Are you interested in finding a new job too?"

Ziva and McGee quickly gathered their gear and headed for the closest elevator. The elevator doors opened and Abby ran out.

"Where's Tony?" she called. "Did I miss him? Has he left already? He was okay, right? He didn't need to stay in the hospital, right? Oh. I knew I shouldn't've taken Davis' case. But it was so interesting: this guy shot this other guy with a—Never mind. Now's not the time," she paused, taking a deep breath. "So," she said more calmly, "How's Tony?"

"Tony is fine, Abby," Ziva said, putting a reassuring hand on Abby's shoulder. "Palmer and Meena are taking him out to dinner tonight. He had to go dress up."

"I think you mean _clean up_, Ziva. Dress up is for young girls," McGee ventured before he realized where this was going. Ziva raised her eyebrows, the gesture meant to ask McGee what his point was.

"Well, this was for him," Abby enclosed McGee and Ziva in a bone-crushing squeeze. "You'll make sure he gets it if you see him before I do."

"Yes. Yes we will," Ziva and McGee shot each other glances that confirmed the opposite while they outwardly pacified Abby.

"You're still here?" Gibbs interrupted from across the bull pen.

Without speaking, Ziva and McGee ran into the elevator and hitting the 'Doors Closed' button to leave as fast as possible. Abby waved to them before heading over to Gibbs.

"He's really all right Gibbs?" Abby asked worridly.

"Don't worry about Tony, Abby," Gibbs said, pausing to give Abby a kiss on the cheek. "Worry about the women he'll be wooing with his 'injured in the line of duty' tale…"

Abby grinned, heading back down to her forensics' lab.

"Jethro, may I have a word?" Ducky, who had been quiet for a few moments, asked. Gibbs nodded, beginning to pack his gear. "I feel I must apologize for my actions yesterday. I gave you a piece of my mind because I was worried about the safety of one of my closest colleagues. I should understand by now that I cannot be let in on everything, but it is hard for me to not fear for my friends' safety."

"That was quite the reprimand," Gibbs agreed, "But it was well deserved. I should have told you about Palmer. And for that I—"

"Please don't, Jethro. I know how you feel about apologies." There was silence for a moment before Ducky spoke up. "Shall we get a drink?"

Gibbs slung his arm around Ducky's shoulders in agreement as they headed to a bar to celebrate another successful arrest for Team Gibbs.

* * *

_A little bit of team banter always does the heart good. There's one more chapter: the final summation and the dinner._

_Thanks to all who read! Extra bonus points for Toadflame who correctly guessed my characters' original identities!_


	10. Chapter 10

NCIS Breaking News: _In a tragic story of obsessive hobbying turned deadly, an NCIS Agent was discovered in his basement crushed between a large, homemade boat and an even larger bottle of bourbon. Film at eleven! _No, but really, new season of NCIS begins September 12, 2010! Set your DVR, VCR, DVD player, or video camera!

NCIS

Tony hobbled into Alfonso's, trying to find Palmer and his girlfriend in the incredibly busy, incredibly formal restaurant. He had changed into one of his nicer Italian suits especially for the occasion, and had tried to make the damage to his face as minimal as possible. Abby had lent him some cover-up stuff, and he'd used a little of it on the bruise on his cheekbone, but it smelled funny, kinda like…well, Abby's lab, so he hadn't used much of it, so as to not frighten off potential girlfriends. Tony actually wasn't going to wear the knee brace, but it was almost impossible to walk without it, so it was grudgingly worn, well-concealed under his suit.

He spied Palmer and Meena sitting at a secluded table in the corner, and finagled his way through the crowd.

A smile lit up Palmer's face when he saw Tony approaching.

"Hey, Tony!" he called loudly, earning evil glares from many other restaurant patrons, who were enjoying their meals quietly.

"Sorry!" Palmer apologized, just as loudly. Meena elbowed him sharply and gave him another glare.

Tony held his breath as he gently lowered himself into his chair, exhaling loudly when he finally succeeded without hurting himself further. He looked up, a satisfied grin on his face. Meena reached over and stroked the fading bruise on his cheek, a horrified look on her face. He watched her inspect the rest of his face, and noted how she was not happy with the injuries she found.

"I'm fine Meena," he told her, in response to her unspoken question, "Really. It's just superficial. I'll be back to myself in no time at all."

The waitress approached immediately, effectively cutting off any further conversation, and waited table-side while they decided on entrees.

When she finally left, Palmer cleared his throat and began. "Well, Tony…I don't know how to put this…you've done so much for us..." he paused, collecting his thoughts before starting again, "Words can't begin to describe how much we really appreciate….When I first came to you for help…" he put his head in his hands. "How is it I can keep up with Doctor Mallard and his trivial pieces of information, but I can't put together a coherent sentence expressing my thanks?"

"What James is trying to say is that we owe you our lives," Meena asserted honestly. "We were caught in a mess with no foreseeable way out, but James trusted you and you came through for us. There is nothing in the world we can do to repay that debt."

"So, what you're telling me is: I have saved your lives, and you are eternally grateful?" Tony grinned, his smile falling when neither Palmer nor Meena seemed to get it. "It's from _Toy Story_, guys! Again, you can thank my cousin's daughter for that, 'cause otherwise I'd never have seen it," he explained, shaking his head. "You need to get out more. Both of you," he added to their continually blank faces.

"You may always be the jokester, Tony, but I knew I could count on you to get me out of this mess. And you did. Like Meena said, we will always be grateful. If there is ever anything you need, you just let us know. We'll do the very best we can to—" Palmer finally managed to express his thanks, but there was still a very uncomfortable look on his face. Tony thought he'd better end the Autopsy Gremlin's torture.

"Palmer, you don't have to keep thanking me. What you've said was beautifully put and very thoughtful. You don't have to keep repeating it differently. Technically, we're even, since you always listened to my ideas while I was Boss and you bought me all those coffees—"

"Not just any coffees: Jamacian Mochas. Very expensive," Palmer interrupted, a grin coming to his face.

"Yes, Palmer, Jamacian Mochas. But you were always there for me, even when Rule 38 went into effect." Now Tony paused, looking very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what Rule 38 is," Meena ventured, "but I can see you two macho men have issues talking about your feelings, so I'm gonna sum up this conversation. Tony, thanks for all you did for us. We really can't ever repay you. Palmer, Tony appears to think you're even, just keep buying him his coffee and life's good," she stated bluntly, causing both Tony and Palmer to grin widely.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you," Tony informed Meena, as Palmer bent over to kiss Meena. "All right. All right. There are kids here," Tony interrupted after a while.

"So," Meena began, "Since we're avoiding awkward conversations, why don't we stick to the easy stuff. Tell us how the case ended. We're a little foggy on the details."

"Milton Berle was a computer genius, who was building something called an octa-core processor. Don't ask me, but it's supposed to 'revolutionize the computer as we know it' in Geek-speak. Anyway, he partnered with Kellan Darst, who saw the beauty behind Berle's design and had him killed so Darst could have full control over the profits. Joe Kemps was an exchange student who stayed with the Berles during his time in America and they remained close friends. Berle had told Kemps about his design and Kemps became suspicious about the circumstances of Berle's death. That's when he kidnapped Meena so you could get him the case file. But Palmer grabbed the wrong file," Tony explained, narrowing his eyes at Palmer.

"Tony, that wasn't my fault—" Palmer tried to defend himself.

"I know, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Anyway, you got yourself kidnapped, and I had to ask Trent Kort for the file. By the way, you owe me big time for that Palmer. Kemps stole the file from me to avoid NCIS involvement while he sought revenge. He put the pieces together and contacted Darst, asking for a meeting. Darst, well-versed in the life of his colleague, knew something was up, and send a hit man to kill Kemps' henchmen to tie up the loose ends. Don't worry, three of the thugs survived," Tony added, seeing Palmer and Meena's shocked faces. "Ideally—to Darst I mean—the situation would have ended tonight with Kemps' death, but we caught up to Kemps and Darst and arrested them both, after a fair bit of brawling on my part.

"Kemps told the whole story, even revealing the safe house where he kept the CIA file. Fornell was more than happy to have that one back, let me tell you. He didn't even let us see what was in it. I suspect there was more to this Milton Berle than meets the eye…But that's not important. Darst refused to talk, but his thug Jacob revealed the whole plot in exchange for a shorter sentence. Darst paid him and Rhamsey to kill the Kemps' amigos, and how Jacob was paid extra to kill Rhamsey. I think Darst was going to kill both Jacob and Kemps and stage it to look like Jacob shot Kemps, or vice versa, I'm not really sure. So, in summation, Gregor killed Ciao Bella, Ciao Bella killed Gregor…" Tony trailed off, seeing their blank faces. "God, Palmer, even Gibbs isn't this bad. Well, maybe you're slightly better than Gibbs, but not by much," he condeeded. "You need to turn on a TV during your autopsies or something. You get HBO, SHOtime or USA down there?"

"How much time is Kemps going to get?" Meena inquired, bringing Tony back on track.

"5-10, probably be out in three for good behavior. It depends on the deal he can cut with the jury. He did steal a file, assault a Federal Officer and kidnap the two of you. But, in that, he brought to light a real killer…"

"Darst?"

"Well, he's probably going away for life. He may not have spoken but his records did: financial, phone and e-mail. They can charge him for paying a suspected bomb maker, who coincidentally was in Iraq the same week Berle was killed, and his phone and e-mail tell the rest of the tale. Terrorism's going for a lot these days. That's on top of ordering the deaths of Kemps' five thugs and Berle himself."

"As much as I dislike Kemps, I can understand why he did it," Meena spoke up, surprising both Tony and Palmer. "C'mon Tony. You know what I mean. How far would you go if you though someone murdered Gibbs? Or McGee? Or Ziva?"

"Well, if someone managed to murder Ziva, there's no way I'm going after them. That person would have to have some _mad_ skills…They'd probably kill me just by looking at me," Tony clarified. "And if they took Ziva down, she'd probably have killed them in the process. So, there's really nothing for me to do."

Meena raised her eyebrows slightly, causing Tony to reconsider what he's just said. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Meena. I'd search everywhere for her killer, not stopping until he was brought to justice," he affirmed honestly. Meena sat back, a satisfied look on her face. "Even if it meant searching every gas station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse and doghouse in the world," Tony finished with a smile.

Meena picked up her napkin and hurled it at him. "You're hopeless," she cried. "How do you put up with this?" she asked Palmer.

Just then, the waiter brought their food and silence ensued while they ate. Palmer grabbed the check, oblivious to Tony's protests that he should at least pay for his portion.

Palmer and Meena motioned to grab a cab once they got outside the restaurant. Tony offered to drive them home, but was politely declined, since Palmer and Meena live in the opposite direction of Tony's apartment.

While they waited for the cab, Meena turned around and kissed Tony gently on the cheek. "Well, thanks for everything, you know, saving my life and stuff…" Meena observed Tony's surprised/amused expression at her _Tremors_' reference, "What? I watch movies too."

"Wow, Palmer. If you weren't already dating her…" Tony stated suggestively.

Palmer socked Tony in the arm. "Well, she's taken."

"Ya, I can see that. What I meant to say Palmer, is you've caught yourself a special one: she's smart, funny, gorgeous, and she can quote from movies verbatim. Is there anything she can't do?"

"I can't cook," Meena declared as the cab pulled up.

"Thanks again Tony for all you did for us," Palmer shook Tony's hand gratefully before helping Meena into the cab.

"If you ever need anything, you have my number," Meena told Tony, "but it has to be strictly platonic," she clarified as if reading Tony's mind. "And if it's in the middle of the night, call James instead of me. I have to be up at the crack of dawn for the family mortuary business."

With that, the cab drove away. Tony walked away grinning, the clichéd spring in his step. He even indulged himself with whistling before people started glaring at him, causing him to stop, which was probably a good thing since the 'spring in his step' was only causing his knee to hurt. As he headed to the car, he debated options for the long weekend. He had movies due back to Blockbuster, so he might as well rent some new ones. Sleep, lots of sleep, he thought, unable to contain a yawn. Maybe tomorrow he'd hit some of the local clubs and try to meet his future wife. Or he could go over to McGeek's house and pester the hell out of him. Or finally go skydiving, for real, in tandem, and with an instructor. Or he'd meet up with some of his frat buddies and play some basketball. All solid ideas.

But tonight, he had _Avatar_ to see before it was due back, and some serious shut-eye to catch.

During the ride home, Tony consider his last few days: he'd saved two people, caught a previously unknown killer while simultaneously neutralizing a threat to society, got his ass kicked numerous times (which he wasn't going to dwell on), caught an additional killer from the previous case he'd been working on, managed to empirically tie a suspected bomb maker to a crime, and had loyally and unselfishly helped a friend. All in all, not a bad week.

NCIS

_And so, that is the end of Things Are Seldom What They Seem. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers, especially those people who took the time to review multiple times! Please take a moment and let me know what you thought of the story: good or bad, happy or sad (emphasis on good or happy, please)._

_I am thinking of picking up the proverbial pen again for another story that's been bouncing around in my brain: something along the lines of Abby and Tony caught in a hostage situation. As per usual, no slash, no ships (no TABBY). Let me know what you think of that._

_This is usa123 signing off. It's been a joy writing this story._

_Adios!_

_Usa123_

_Post-Scriptum: You get extra bonus points if you can tell me where the line "Gregor killed Ciao-Bella…" is from. Leave me a review or PM if you get it._


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